Liturgy
by ShazzyZhang
Summary: The Saints need to get out of Hoag. It seems like their prayers have been answered, but Connor isn't so sure about the woman sent to get them out of there. Will they get their freedom? Will they continue their mission? Non-Romantic.
1. Verse 1

_AN: Ah, it's like meeting an old friend for coffee... or a Guinness in this case. Good Lord, this movie has had such a sincere impact on my life in the past 13 years. I had to get back into my fandom. Yes, I have OC characters in this, there is no other way to play it. Romance is unintentional, but you should all know that these things happen so, please keep an open mind, I dunno how long this is going to go for, but I need to get back into this. Thank you to all my loyal fans, I love you all. Troy Duffy is still my hero and I wish I owned this franchise. _

_Cheers._

_-Shazzy. (and for the record, I have been known as "Murphy" to my close friends for 10 years. Go figure.)_

**Liturgy**

"At least it's a roof o'er our heads." Murphy said as the two brothers stared out the barred window of Hoag maximum security prison.

They'd been stuck in their cell for most of the six months they'd been in prison. The warden had decided that they were a danger to the other inmates, even though they'd never made any indication that they were going to continue their holy war from inside their cell. They had, however, been kind enough to keep the MacManus brothers together.

Connor shot his twin a frown as he allowed his blue eyes to wander over the yard below them. "What I wouldn'a gi'e ta go outside right about now."

Murphy sighed and turned his eyes skyward. "Gonna rain like a bastard." He warned.

Connor pushed himself away from the window, running his hands through his dusty brown hair in exasperation. "Murph, I swear t' ya, I'm dying."

Murphy didn't move away from the window. They'd been talking about their imprisonment a lot more recently. And the things leading up to their capture. Never in English, of course, they'd never allow the cops listening to get in on their conversations.

Murphy sniffled, but didn't look at his brother. "Y' ain't dying, Conn." He said with a sigh. "It's cabin fever and nicotine withdrawal."

Connor slumped down on his cot. He rested his head in his hands with a sigh. Murphy was usually the one to get overly worked up, he had a shorter temper than Connor and didn't think things through as thoroughly. And yet Connor was the one about to fly off the handle.

The prison was nice as far as prisons went. The cell was warm enough that it wasn't torturous to be inside. They had a window, that was a bonus. The guards had been kind enough to allow them to keep their rosaries, the brothers weren't on suicide watch. They had a roof over their heads, three meals a day and they were kept well away from the other prisoners. They even got books twice a week, if they so chose.

Connor was going insane.

"Why don't you tell me what's goin' on in yer heid?" Connor asked, not lifting his head as he sat. "You are never this quiet unless you've had too much ta' drink or you've got something on yer mind."

Murphy slowly turned to look at his brother, the shifting of Murphy's body made Connor look up. Connor noticed that Murphy's darker hair was in need of a trim, and that his eyes betrayed the fact that he actually hadn't been sleeping, despite what he said.

"You haven't been dreaming?" Murphy asked slowly, one hand still hanging onto the window sill.

Connor arched an eyebrow. "Not recently..." He ventured. "Y' mean like th' ones..." He pointed upwards. They'd agreed that their prophetic dreams would remain secret. The fact that they claimed to be on a mission from God already had the psychiatrists in a tizzy.

Murph nodded. "But if you ain't havin' 'em, I'm obviously not."

Connor narrowed his eyes and switched to Italian. "What did you dream?"

Murphy shrugged, his darker blue-green eyes narrowing in recollection. He spoke in slow Russian. "Someone is coming for us."

Before Connor could answer, a guard arrived. Both of the men turned to look at the familiar face. The guard was built similarly to the boys, lithe and muscular. He was an Irish cop, and he'd never been anything but civil to the MacManuses.

"What's up, Charlie?" Connor asked brightly, hoping for a cigarette to be offered.

"Ye boys got a visitor." Charlie replied. "Some big wig here to see you."

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances, confused about who would be coming to see them. An absent minded brush of Murphy's hand against his own chest to touch the comforting weight of the rosary there was the only nervous twitch either of the boys displayed. Quietly they moved towards the door of their cell as Charlie opened it for them.

Connor nudged his brother as they were led down the hallway by armed guards. Murphy simply shrugged. They were led into the plain concrete visiting room that was reserved for special occasions. The table had the most inviting display of coffee, cigarettes and, praise the Lord, doughnuts, that the boys had ever seen.

Seated at the table was a woman, dressed in charcoal grey pinstripe slacks and a royal purple blouse. She was sitting with a notebook and a tape recorder on the table in front of her. She was silently nursing a diet Coke as she waited. Her hair was a deep chocolatey brown with evidently unnatural fire-engine red streaks cut into a long layered look. She had wide blue eyes that looked up from her notebook at the boys critically. She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup, a touch of foundation to try to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the scar that ran from the corner of her eye across her cheek, but that was it. Her shoes, the boys noticed, were royal purple high top sneakers, Chuck Taylors to be specific. She seemed almost uncomfortable in the professional outfit she wore.

"You can leave them and shut the door, thank you." The woman said, her Irish accent making her words more harsh than she intended. She offered a smile to Charlie and he nodded in return.

The brothers stared incredulously at the woman at the table. There was something... familiar about her.

She stood then, proving she was shorter than the boys. She smiled brightly and offered her hand. "Connor, Murphy." She said by way of introduction. She'd gotten them right the first try and she hadn't looked at the tattoos as she shook their hands.

"Have a seat." She added brightly, motioning to the chairs.

Slowly, the brothers lowered themselves into the uncomfortable chairs. They exchanged looks of confusion.

The woman stayed across from them and expertly poured them each a cup of coffee. "Help yourselves." She told them, handing the paper cups across the table before she sat back down. "It's all for you boys." She smiled again. "And I assure you there's no strychnine in the tobacco, that would just be... uncivil."

Murphy reached for his coffee first, adding cream and sugar until he was satisfied. He nudged Connor, who followed suit, still eyeing the woman. Murphy took a long sip of the coffee, relishing the fact that it was actually brewed properly. He eyed the carafe wondering how much was left inside and whether this woman had brought it herself.

Connor stared at his drink for a long moment. "Are you a lawyer or somethin'?" He asked finally, cutting through the bullshit.

That smile again, and a trilling laugh that warmed Murphy's dread.

"Good Lord, no." She replied. "I'm a writer."

The boys blinked in surprise.

"Blaise O'Malley." The woman said slowly, as if it was a name that they should be familiar with.

Murphy noted that she pronounced her name with a soft 's', so it was "blayss" instead of "blaze", the way the Saint was usually pronounced. He eyed her over the edge of his coffee cup, still unable to place her.

"What does a writer want with us?" Connor asked, still eyeing the cigarettes. He was shaking from withdrawal and he sorely wanted one, but he had a nagging suspicion that this was a bribe.

Blaise smirked. "You really have no idea who I am?" She asked with a shake of her head. "Fair enough." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I'll get right t' the point, boys. I have clout with the Mayor of this fine city and you ougta know tha' you've become quite the celebrities."

Murphy chuckled and nudged his brother. "She probably jus' wants our autographs."

Connor snorted and reached for a cigarette, bribe or not he was dying for a smoke. He handed one to his brother and lit Murphy's first before lighting his own. He took a long drag and stared at the writer. "We can sign yer notebook there, if tha's all y' want, but we ain't singing inta that recorder."

Blaise's face was blank and unreadable. Murphy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Something about her was niggling at the back of his mind. He'd seen her _somewhere_. He was sure of it.

"Y'know," Blaise began staring Connor dead in the eye. "I can pack all of my things up, the coffee, the cigarettes, the doughnuts, the _cigarettes_. I can jus' leave ya' boys in 'ere to rot. I'll tell the Mayor tha' you wouldnae cooperate with me and that you don't deserve this chance a second time."

She stared Connor down through the haze of smoke trailing up from his cigarette.

"Or you can keep yer damn mouth shut an' not crack wise for about five minutes so that I can tell ya what exactly is goin' on 'ere." She finished. She hadn't moved from her spot and her mouth was turned up in a smug little grin.

"Maybe we oughta listen to her?" Murphy asked in Italian.

"Or maybe she's just after a confession." Connor shot back, also in Italian.

Blaise rolled her eyes as the boys chatted in their foreign retinue.

"An' what the hell good would that do? Everyone knows it was us." Murphy hissed in French. "Maybe she's got a better offer?"

Connor eyed his brother suspiciously.

"Maybe she's the one I'm waiting for." Murphy said further, sticking with French.

Blaise didn't flinch. It was like she had been expecting this from them. "Your story is being optioned by Hollywood, by publishers who want a biography blah blah blah." She snapped. "I happen to be friends with the Mayor, I got in first." She leaned over to reach for her bag. She produced two copies of the same book and slid them across the table. "This is how I write." She said. "If you like it, I wanna write your story."

Murphy and Connor opened the books in unison. There was a handwritten note on the inside cover.

_To the MacManus brothers. I hope you're into ESCAPISM. Love Blaise._

Murphy gave Connor a knowing look. Connor sighed.

"But I didn't dream a damn thing." Connor hissed in Russian as he looked at the book in his hands. He stared at Murphy, who simply stared back. He turned his tired eyes to Blaise and uttered a single word in English. "Fuck."

Blaise grinned. "Is that consent?" She asked cheerily.

Murphy was busily skimming through his book. He noticed a ribbon bookmark built right into the spine. He flipped the pages until he found the passage that was marked off. He read it slowly, unable to believe that this was really happening.

"She's proposing to get us out of here." Murphy whispered in Italian as he handed Connor his book.

He looked at the author seated across from him as he snubbed out his cigarette. He took another drink of his coffee. "You look familiar as hell." He said slowly.

Blaise shrugged. "I used to talk to the auld boys at McGinty's back in th' day. My Da' was a cop."

"In and out like a ghost." Murphy said with a trace of a smile. "Always drinking Guinness, ne'er anything harder." He smirked. "Yer da' was the O'Malley who was killed on duty, yeah?"

"Mobsters." Blaise replied with a shrug.

"Yakavetta?" Connor asked as he joined the conversation fully.

Blaise's blue eyes trailed slowly away from Muprhy to look at the other MacManus. "Doesn't matter anymore." She said with a sigh. She stared at Connor, his face was narrower than his brother's, a little rougher, and he stared at you like he could see right through you if you gave him half a chance.

She cleared her throat. "I showed you mine." She said, spreading her hands on the table. "We got a deal boys?"

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances.

"Yeah, I think we can manage." Connor said with a smirk.

"You'll need t' bring more coffee." Murphy replied.

They talked for hours with Blaise. Mostly bullshit. She was asking questions about their childhood. Vague questions that were easily mislead. It was like she was deliberately trying to avoid asking them truthful questions.

When the coffee and doughnuts were gone, and the boys had smoked half a pack of cigarettes each, Blaise had called it a day. They said their good-byes gratefully as they each pocketed the cigarettes. Blaise insisted that they read the books again and said she'd be back the next day, if it was all right with them.

The MacManus brothers consented.

Once they were safely back in their cell, Connor threw his book across the room.

"Christ, Connor, what the hell?" Murphy asked.

"This is fuckin' insane." Connor replied. "You read tha' book as well as I did. D'you see what she's tryin' ta do?"

Murphy shrugged. "It worked in the book."

"It's fiction ya' dumbass!" Connor all but shouted, slapping Murphy's arm in exasperation.

Murphy fidgeted, not convinced that his brother was right.

"Oh, Murph, don' tell me you're believin' her?" Connor asked when Murphy didn't offer his usual witty retort. He stared at his brother disdainfully. "You think tha' she's the one you were dreamin' about?"

Murphy nodded.

"Fuuuuuuuck." Connor groaned, leaning against the wall.

"If she pulls this off..." Murphy started.

"We get pinched and die." Connor interjected.

"I thought you wanted to go outside?" Murphy asked.

"Fuck off." Connor shot back with a sigh. "Fine. I'll believe you on this one."

Murphy gave his brother a dirty look. "You owe me after th' rope debacle."

Connor flipped his brother off and flopped down on his bed, covering his face with his pillow.

"Yer insane, Murph." Connor mumbled through the fabric and the down.

Murphy sat down quietly on his bed and began reading the book he'd been given. He wanted to make sure that their escape was going to have a happy ending.


	2. Verse 2

_AN: So, I continue. I'll try to keep it short though, since I have no idea what I'm doing, lol. I can't WAIT for Boondock Saints 3. :nod: Also, I'll be gone for a while, so enjoy while you can! And re-read me often! _

_Cheers._

_-Shazzy_

"She's insane." Connor told Murphy as they were led down the hallway.

They'd agreed to do the interview with Blaise and she had come back the next day. It had been enough time for the boys to read their books and to argue over the merit of such a plot.

"You do realize that it's a work of _fiction_ right, Murph?" Connor was chiding.

Murphy was sold instantly on the plan, swearing that Blaise was the one they'd been waiting for. Connor wasn't so optimistic.

"You do realize that it would take about a half dozen _fuckin' miracles_ to pull off right?" Connor continued, rambling.

Murphy was silent, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had the book tucked under his arm as Connor continued to point out why it was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard.

"Jesus Ch_rist_ you're actually a fan of this?" Connor was almost yelling. "Hell, at this point I am almost _hoping_ there's strychnine in the tobacco!"

Connor stopped his ramblings and stared incredulously at his brother's back. "Murphy, are you fuckin' _laughing_?"

Murphy cast a glance over his shoulder at his brother, his blue eyes shining. "You really do get yerself worked up o'er nothing don't you, Conn."

Connor narrowed his eyes and glared at his brother. "I am going to kick your ass all up an' down this corridor, Murph." He warned in Russian.

Murphy simply laughed at his brother's threat. They'd been threatening to kill one another all their lives, it wasn't much of a threat anymore.

Connor caught the look their escort of guards was giving him and he shrugged. "I am not a fan of bad logistics in my fiction." He offered by way of explanation. "Murphy thinks that the more insane a plan, the better."

The guard nodded. "Things that are supposedly 'real life' irk me. Bourne Supremacy? Yeah, not a fan."

"I'm not the only one who thinks that shite is mental!" Connor told Murphy shoving his brother playfully.

Murphy shrugged. "It's called _escapism_ for a reason." He shot back as they were ushered back into the little interrogation room.

The table was again laden with peace offerings and Blaise was sitting in her usual spot. Today, her royal purple blouse had been changed to a black t shirt and her slacks were now a kilt with thick white knee high socks. She was still wearing the royal purple Chucks, however. Both Connor and Murphy couldn't help but stare.

"Y' never seen a woman before?" Blaise asked, catching the stares. "Christ, you haven't been in here _that_ long."

"What happened to the professional writer?" Connor asked sarcastically, not ashamed that he'd been caught staring. She wasn't half bad looking and as far as he was concerned, there was no harm in _looking_ was there.

"I left her in my other kilt." Blaise shot back, tossing Connor a new pack of cigarettes. She'd brought the bribe, it was the least she could do.

Connor caught the small package easily, a smirk still playing on his lips. "Your writing sucks." He said.

"You're full of shite." Blaise informed him with a sigh as the boys took their seats across from her. "You just don't like something in the book I gave you."

"You're clinically insane." Connor replied. "It shows in your work. How else would you be able to write from the villain's point of view so well?"

"He thinks your escape is insane." Murphy interjected, helping himself to the blessed carafe of coffee. There was a twinge of desperation in his voice. He was afraid she'd get up and walk away, leaving them in Hoag to rot if Connor didn't take it easy.

"But it works in the end." Blaise told them.

"Yeah, it was a happy ending." Connor said, lighting a cigarette. "For the badguy."

Blaise stared at him evenly. "Why do you think I want to write your biography so badly?" She asked.

Connor stopped, the cigarette hanging from his lips. He stared.

"You think _we're_ the villains?" Murphy asked incredulously, coffee halfway to his mouth.

"I wouldn't be here if I did." Blaise replied. "What I _want_ is to see you boys get a happy ending to your story."

"Fat chance." Connor snorted. "We're in here for life. Maybe longer."

"Il Duce got parole." Blaise pointed out.

Both MacManus boys stiffened in their seats at the mention of their late father.

"Hit a nerve, have I?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow and smirking.

"How d'you know about Il Duce?" Murphy asked hoarsely.

"Da' was a cop." Blaise reminded them with a nonchalant shrug. "Why, does he mean something to you?"

She didn't know. Connor let out a breath of relief and went back to smoking contentedly.

"I still think you're insane." Connor said with a sigh. "There's no way you could actually pull off the stunt you pulled in your book."

Blaise shrugged. "And you are the most disagreeable Irishman I've ever met, Connor MacManus." She told him bluntly. "But I promise that I'll have you singing a different tune by the end of the week."

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances. Connor's face was carefully blank but Murphy's face betrayed his trust in the writer.

Connor sighed. "A'right, fine. What bullshite questions do you wanna ask us this time?"


	3. Verse 3

_AN: Saint Patrick's Day makes me need more Boondock Saints. And now, we really see some action building. _

_Enjoy._

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 3**

The week passed the same way every day. Blaise would show up with her cigarettes and coffee offerings and her questions. It had become a sort of ritual for the boys, a daily penance to atone for their sins.

But it wasn't a bad thing.

Connor had to admit that Blaise had a quick wit. She was never unnerved by his sarcasm, and she was never cowed by his reluctance to cooperate until Murphy stepped in to make him play nice.

Friday rolled around with thunder and a downpour. When the brothers arrived for their scheduled meeting with the writer, they found her with her hair tied back in a ponytail and shivering. She'd been caught unprepared in the rain.

"You look a wreck." Connor noted.

"Are you okay?" Murphy asked, placing a hand against Blaise's arm.

She nodded and sniffled. She was dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a black hoodie. Nothing spectacular, more casual than anything else, but she was a touch damp.

"Jus' a bit o' rain boys." She said with her usual grin. She patted Murphy's hand affectionately.

"Where's the tape recorder?" Connor asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The table was bare of the notebook and recorder that she'd employed to keep track of her notes.

"Don't need 'em today." Blaise replied, lowering herself into her chair. "Told you I'd make it worth your while by the end of th' week didn't I?" She produced two manuscripts and passed them across the table. "Feel free to edit them this afternoon." She said. "I want your opinions."

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances and opened the pages. The first page of each had a small white pill taped to it. Connor shot a glance upwards at the woman sitting across from him but pocketed the pill anyway. Murphy didn't look up.

Page two held an introduction written in broken Italian.

_Il piano è in movimento. Le pillole devono essere ingerito a mezzanotte se questo è di andare a lavorare. Il mio popolo è pronto ad andare. Saprete chi sono, non abbiamo parole in codice. Fidati di me. _

Translated, it read: The plan is in motion. The pills must be ingested at midnight if this is going to work. My people are ready to go. You will know who they are, we do not have code words. Trust me.

The brothers exchanged a look. Murphy nodded. Connor sighed.

Blaise was making good on her promise and Connor was worried.

They spent the afternoon actually reading what she'd written. She was right, she had made it look worthwhile. The story was well put together. Their childhood and early years weren't glossed over, and the disjointed, random questions she'd asked had been woven together to make the MacManus brothers seem more interesting than they actually were.

"I hate to admit it, but you've actually pulled it off." Connor said handing back the manuscript. No evidence.

Blaise smiled. "Thanks." She said, a hint of a blush colouring her cheeks. She hadn't been as confident as she'd pretended and Connor's compliment had made it all worthwhile.

"You do realize, Conn, that we ain't gonna see a red cent when she sells this." Murphy chimed in, he was re-reading some passage and was busily scribbling notes in the margins.

Connor frowned. "I hadn't thought of that." He mused.

"An' you're usually the cynical one." Murphy teased, running his tattooed hand through his dark hair.

"What if we start makin' demands now?" Connor asked, nudging his brother. "She can't sell it without our express permission, right?"

Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Oh really?" She asked with a smirk. "What sort of 'demands' would the MacManus brothers be askin' o' me?"

Murphy looked up from his 'work' and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Beer." He said simply, drawing a raucous laugh from his brother.

"An' you have to promise that Matt Damon ain't gonna be cast in the Hollywood movie." Connor pitched in.

"An' we need a trip somewhere..." Murphy added. "Like Disneyland or some bullshit."

"I wanna house in Sicily." Connor said. "On the water, in Italy."

"Italy?" Murphy asked incredulously, punching his brother in the arm. "Are y' outta yer fuckin' mind? Mobster central. Christ, Conn. It has ta' be France or Spain." He decided, staring intently at Blaise.

Blaise had buried her face in her hands and was trying very hard not to laugh. "Okay, sure." She mumbled through her fingers. "Whatever y' want boys."

"That wasnae that hard." Connor said, handing his brother a cigarette as he lit his own.

Murphy grinned and blew smoke rings over the table. "What good is it though, if we're gonna rot in 'ere?" He asked seriously. "We might as well be dead for all the good a house in Sicily will do us."

Connor shrugged. "Wishful thinking." He offered.

Blaise lifted her head from her hands. "I forgot to ask you, what are your thoughts on Romeo turning state evidence for a lesser sentence?"

Connor let fly a string of angry words in Russian.

Murphy chuckled. "Sums it up quite nicely, actually." He told Blaise. "But since this is polite company, we'll just say that he's no friend of ours anymore."

"Does his turning state make him a likely target for your special brand of justice?" Blaise asked further.

Connor and Murphy exchanged looks, smoke trailing up from their cigarettes. Murphy sniffled and Connor frowned. Both sets of blue eyes turned to Blaise.

"No." They confirmed in unison.

"You boys work in mysterious ways." Blaise said with a smile.

Neither of the MacManus boys had anything to say to that.

The goodbyes were longer than usual, and the Saints and the writer parted fonder of one another than they had been previously. Murphy kissed the back of Blaise's hand and Connor patted her affectionately on the shoulder, mumbling something about how his brother had gone insane.

Blaise was left to look over the notes Murphy had written in her manuscript. The first page caught her eye. Written in the blue ink of the pen she'd loaned Murphy and in his scrawling handwriting underneath the broken Italian message he had written her his own.

_We've been waiting for you. Connor doesn't know it yet, but you know more about us than you're letting on. Yes, the dreams are real. You've been in mine before you showed up. I know it sounds creepy and stalker-like but I trust you based on the dreams alone. I don't know who sent you, but if you get us out of this, you will have made two very real friends for life._

Blaise felt tears in her eyes as she tucked the manuscript back into her bag.

Midnight would not come soon enough.

The MacManus brothers were nervous.

"It's still insane." Connor said.

"Rope." Murphy replied simply, kneeling on the floor as was their custom to pray.

"One time an' you won't let me live it down!" Connor shot back, mimicking his brother's action.

They prayed silently. It was almost midnight. They clasped their rosaries tightly in their hands as they prayed. Neither would tell the other what they prayed for, but tonight it was identical: please let this work.

Connor had been skeptical from the get-go. The book had laid the plan out in immaculate detail, everything from the pills Blaise had slipped them to the way they were going to escape. It was too bold. Too over-the-top to work.

Connor was praying for a miracle.

The plan was too elaborate. Blaise had gotten her people inside the prison, enough to pull off a night shift. Connor had pointed them out first, just a few guards who they'd never seen before being given a tour and a briefing session. They'd stopped in front of the MacManuses's cell and were given detailed instructions about what not to do.

The next part of the plan involved taking neurotoxins in pill form. Poison from a puffer fish was how it was described in the book. Connor and Murphy needed to take the pills at midnight. If the dosage was wrong though, they wouldn't make it much past midnight. The idea was to have them appear dead, have the guards find them and be unable to revive them before the paramedics arrive.

According to the book, the paramedics would be Blaise's people too. No chance of accidentally getting shocked with a defibrillator. They would then pronounce the Saints dead and drive them to the city morgue. The boys would be revived in the ambulance and shuffled out before the explosion.

Connor had drawn the line at the word 'explosion'.

To avoid suspicion, the ambulance would be blown up and charred remains of the Saints would be found amongst the wreckage.

Murphy had been too eager to go along with it.

Now they sat on their beds staring across the prison cell at one another. Each had his rosary around his neck and the little white pill in his hand.

"I don't like this." Connor said.

"Not much of a choice." Murphy replied. "I don't wanna die in 'ere, Conn."

"Where are we gonna go?" Connor replied.

Murphy shrugged. "I'll happily go to fuckin' Arkansas if I have to, just anywhere but 'ere."

"Your brain must be a interesting place." Connor said with a smirk. "Arkansas? Really?"

Murphy shrugged. "Shut up."

Connor stared at the pill in his palm. "D'you know what these things are gonna do to us?"

"She was pretty horrifically descriptive in the book." Murphy said with a wrinkle of his nose. "Swelling of our lips and tongues, paralysis of our limbs, even our faces. Our hearts slow to the point where they won't register without electronics, our breathing all but stops."

"And if it goes wrong, we suffocate to death." Connor replied. "Quicker than capital punishment." He offered cheerily.

Murphy sighed. "We have to do it." He said. "It's gonna work."

"I still never had a dream about her." Connor said.

Murphy stared at his brother. "You're joking, right?"

Connor shook his head wearily. "No. I wish I was, Murph, but I haven't been dreaming for months."

Murphy bit his lip and glanced away from his brother. "Y' gotta trust me on this one." He asked. "Because I can't stay in 'ere any longer, and if this works we're free, if not... Well, we're not in 'ere anymore."

Connor sat for a long moment. Finally he nodded. "A'right, but you're buying the beer when this works."

"Deal." Murphy agreed as midnight rolled around.

Simultaneously, the brothers put the pills in their mouths and laid back on their cots, each grasping his rosary tightly. God works in mysterious ways.


	4. Verse 4

_AN: Yeah, I couldn't leave you all hanging. It's just getting to the exciting part. :3 _

_Who was surprised with what I did to Romeo? Am I bad? _

_And what is with Blaise? How does she know so much? Who is she working for? In fact, who IS she? (obviously, aside from a writer and the daughter of a cop who was killed by mobsters and NOT Eunice Bloom as was previously suggested.) And is Connor putting his faith blindly in his brother, or is Murphy actually losing it?_

_I am asking these questions mostly so I don't forget what I'm doing. _

_Slainté!_

**Verse 4**

They were aware of everything that was happening and yet they couldn't do anything about it. They could feel the poison slowing down their nervous systems. They could feel the paralysis creeping through their limbs. And they couldn't fight it. A natural, uncontrollable panic began to set in, but even that was felt as something far away and unimportant.

_So this is what it's like to die..._

They were still conscious when the guards found them. They could see the paramedics checking for vitals, feel the hands against their chests as the paramedics attempted to revive them. It was a strange feeling, a vague feeling seeing as they couldn't really feel anything through the chemically induced paralysis.

"Anything longer than six minutes and there's really no hope..." One of the paramedics said. To Connor, it sounded like they were all under water.

"Been at least an hour." The guard replied.

The paramedic shook his head.

Murphy felt the first twinges of claustrophobia as the body bag was zipped up over his head. He vaguely wondered if he would suffocate.

The inmates would rejoice in the morning.

They were rolled out of the prison and loaded onto the waiting ambulance. Two body bags on stretchers, bound for the morgue. The sirens wouldn't announce their passing.

Inside the ambulance, the body bags were unzipped and the second paramedic began administering countermeasures to the neurotoxin. Activated charcoal pills were slipped in the brothers' mouths and eased down their throats. IV lines were attached, pumping saline and antioxidants in an attempt to flush their systems. And the boys felt nothing.

"They ain't responsive yet." The paramedic in the back told the driver.

"How long's it been?"

"Uh..." A check of his watch. "Ten minutes."

"They should be coming out of it right away. Don't panic." The driver replied. "How're their vitals?"

"I ain't panicking, their vitals are okay, weak, but there, but the question remains, what if they don't come out of it?"

"Blaise'll deal with 'em comatose."

Murphy was properly conscious first. "Where?" He asked, struggling to sit up.

The paramedic in the back nodded to the Saint. "How're you feeling?"

Murphy smacked his lips. "Thirsty." He replied groggily. "An' I can't feel much of anything."

The paramedic nodded. "Yeah, that'll happen." He offered a grin. "We're almost at your destination, brother. You'll have to walk part of the way though."

Murphy shot a glance at his brother. "Conn?"

The paramedic frowned. "He's okay. He's just... not coming out of it as fast as you did."

Murphy had to fight with himself not to have a freak out in the back of the ambulance. Connor looked dead, despite what the beeping monitor attached to him said.

"Where are we going?" Murphy asked thickly, he was having trouble thinking, everything felt fuzzy and his lips and tongue weren't quite working properly.

"Safehouse." The paramedic replied. "I can't really tell you much. The less you know about how we're getting you to where you're going, the better."

"Still Boston?" Murphy asked, running a groggy hand over his face. Numb. No feeling in his fingers, it was an odd sensation.

"Obviously." The paramedic replied with a smirk. He wasn't Irish and he didn't have a Bostonian accent. Murphy wondered where he'd come from. And how Blaise managed to get involved in all of this.

"Here." The paramedic continued, handing Murphy a bundle of clothes. "Leave the jumpsuit in here, you don't wanna be stumbling through the alley in your prison orange, do ye?"

Murphy nodded and proceeded to slowly change his clothes. The paramedics chatted with one another quietly, giving Murphy a little bit of privacy while he changed, and Murphy had no desire to listen in on their conversation. He focused on getting dressed with no feeling in his fingers and he watched Connor carefully, fearing the worst.

The plan got complicated from the back of the ambulance onwards. The idea was that the MacManus brothers would slip out of the back and walk two blocks to their safe house when the vehicle stopped. The paramedics would claim 'engine troubles' and pull over. One would get out of the back to explain why the door was opening. The street where this was supposed to take place was a relatively quiet street. Very little traffic and so few people it wouldn't matter. It was on the way to the morgue from Hoag anyway, there was no reason for them NOT to be on the street.

Then they'd find the bomb.

By the time the explosion hit, the MacManuses would be inside, hidden.

Unfortunately, Connor still wasn't awake.

"I can carry him." Murphy insisted. "I've done it before."

"Shush." The paramedic said. They still hadn't been introduced. He was on his cell phone. "Yeah, B, we got a problem."

Murphy scowled and listened to the side of the conversation that he could hear.

"Connor ain't waking up." A pause. "Yeah, we've done everything properly." Another, longer pause. "His vitals are fine..." He pursed his lips as he listened to the increasingly irate woman on the other end of the phone. "No, he's just not snapped out of it yet." He cast an apologetic look at Murphy, almost afraid that someone was going to hit him. "We're still about ten minutes out. What do you want us to do?"

Murphy touched the rosewood beads around his neck. _Pray for a miracle._

"You can't come meet us. That ruins the whole plan!"

Murphy's eyes widened and he shook his head and hissed, "I'll fuckin' carry 'im."

"Uh-huh." The paramedic said. "Uh-huh." He nodded slowly. "Yeah, we have that too." A frown. "Sounds too risky, I can do that..." A hesitation, and then a nod. "Okay. You're the boss." He hung up.

"Change of plans, Murphy." He said with a wan smile. "Things are looking tougher."

The new plan was to load Connor into a wheelchair, wrapped in a dressing gown and Blaise would meet them on the corner to take them to the safe house. No one would question if _she_ was pushing a sick-looking young man in a wheelchair. She paid enough to have as much privacy as she did. It wasn't until this was pointed out that it clicked in Murphy's head.

"We're going to Blaise's _home_?"

The paramedic shrugged as he helped the conscious MacManus brother change Connor into the white robe that they had in the ambulance. Carefully, they lifted Connor into the wheelchair they'd made sure to bring for just such an emergency and strapped him in.

Murphy had a flashback of Saint Patrick's Day a few years ago. Connor had saved his life by tossing a toilet off the roof of their then-home, and jumping with it. It was the robe, and the fact that his brother was unconscious that triggered it.

Murphy shook his head as the ambulance slowed to a halt.

"We're here." The driver said easily. "You okay?"

Murphy nodded. "Will be better once this shite is over." He admitted. "Wha' happnes t' you two?"

The paramedics exchanged grins.

"We run." The tech in the back with Murphy said. "We have it all planned out, don't worry." He offered the Saint a smile and his hand. "Was a pleasure workin' with you, sorry about Connor."

Murphy took the proffered hand and looked at his still unconscious brother. "It'll be fine once he wakes up." He said, less confidently than he intended. "But don't you go talkin' like he's dead already."

A nod. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"There's Blaise." The driver said with a laugh. "She looks like she's trying to hide from th' paparazzi."

"Over-dramatic as always." The tech said with a chuckle. He slipped past the Saints and opened the door. "All right boys, good luck."

Murphy had no trouble with the paramedic's help to get the wheelchair out and on the ground. Blaise was there immediately, and the door to the bus was hiding them from street view.

"Hey B." The paramedic said.

"If you see Smecker before I do, punch him for me." Blaise instructed as she planted a quick, chaste kiss on the paramedic's cheek.

_Smecker?_ Murphy thought. _Naw, can't be, we fuckin' buried him... _

"I'll let 'im know it's comin'." The paramedic replied with a grin.

"You sure everything'll work okay from here?" Blaise asked.

"Get inside, and plug your ears." The reply came easily. "We'll see you later."

"Probably not." Blaise said with a smile. She turned her attention to Murphy. "Ready to die?" She asked.

Murphy looked up at the clear blue sky, taking a minute to enjoy the feeling of the light breeze against his face. "Seems as good a day as any." He replied.

Blaise nodded and crouched in front of Connor. "Oy, Connor MacManus. You wake up, boyo. Else you'll be in big trouble y' hear me?" She placed her hands against his face, tilting his head. She stared him down. His blue eyes were still glazed over and unresponsive. She moved her fingers to check for a pulse. "Yeah, he's fine." She said. "I can feel his pulse." She cast a glance at Murphy. "If I can _feel_ it he's on the mend... He might throw up though."

Murphy let out a sigh on relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

"Thank you." She told the paramedics.

The driver waved and the tech nodded. "Get outta here now." He warned. "Y've got about five minutes."

Blaise nodded and she led Murphy away from the street, pushing Connor carefully.

Murphy had no idea where he was. He'd never been in this part of the city before, at least not while he was conscious. He stumbled as he walked, the feeling in his legs not being entirely there.

"Fuck." Murphy cursed. "Where are we?"

Blaise chuckled and offered him a hand. "C'mon, there'll be time t' talk when we get inside."

The two blocks transformed the neighbourhood. Suddenly, they were in a nice part of the city. The houses along the street were all pseudo-Victorian style, not too close together, with huge shady trees in every yard. The house Blaise led him to was on the end of the block, well away from everyone else. It was stained a rich mahogany and the natural grains of the wooden slats on the walls showed through. All the trim was done up in a deep brown, so dark it almost looked black, and the yard was huge.

"This is your place?" Murphy asked incredulously.

"Yeah." Blaise said as she opened the gate. "Da' left it ta me when he was killed. Mum was well in the grave when it 'appened." She pushed Connor to the front steps. "Door's open, Murph. Open it and you can pull yer brother up the steps. I don' want you ta risk droppin' him."

Murphy laughed, he couldn't help it, and did as he was asked.

They got Connor into the house and settled on the couch without incident.

"We'll move him to th' bed after." Blaise said with a huff. "Coffee? Tea?" She offered.

"Yes please." Murphy replied.

They were sitting at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee and staring at each other when the explosion rocked the house.

"There goes the neighbourhood." Blaise mumbled as car alarms sounded and dogs began barking. She smiled at Murphy. "Welcome home.


	5. Verse 5

_AN: Are you worried, yet, Flock? Someone is not going to be very happy in a moment._

_That's okay, it all works out in the end, right?_

_-EDIT-_

_I realized that during writing this chapter, I hadn't mentioned if Murphy is wearing clothing. For all y'all know, he's sitting naked at the table. He isn't, never was, but I was editing it before I posted it and realized that I never mentioned Murph's clothes, but I did mention Conn and B's. Go figure. Freudian slip much? Ha ha!_

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 5**

Connor opened his eyes with a groan. He didn't feel as good as he should have and his mind was still fuzzy. He ran his hands over his face, lying on his back. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't staring at the ceiling of his prison cell.

He frowned.

The ceiling above him cream-coloured and smooth, not the dingy grey of a prison cell. Slowly, he turned his head to peer across the room. Another bed, empty of anyone, and perfectly made with thick comforters and multiple pillows. The walls were the same cream as the ceiling with dark brown wainscoting from the middle of the wall to the floor. Sunlight streamed in through the small crack in the curtains that hung above him.

Connor pushed himself up, sitting in his bed.

His head spun and he thought for a moment that he was going to throw up. He gave himself a moment to force the choking nausea back down before taking further stock of what was going on.

He looked down at himself. His rosary was tucked neatly around his neck, hanging against his chest, and he was dressed only in his boxers and wife-beater. No shoes. No clothes.

"I must be dead." Connor whispered hoarsely.

He noticed a fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door and he forced himself up. Shaking, he stumbled across the room and grabbed the dressing gown. He tied it around himself and opened the door.

_Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up._

He dragged his feet across the smooth hardwood floor, relishing the coolness of it against the soles of his feet. It had been a long time since he'd have felt comfortable walking barefoot across any floor he came in contact with, but he had no choice, and there didn't seem to be anything to step on. He kept one hand on the wall as he made his way slowly down the hallway, trying not to fall over.

_Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up._

Stairs.

"Fuck." Connor whispered to himself. There weren't many, seven or eight in total, but to the nauseated, dizzy MacManus, it could have been a mountain standing in his way.

Cautiously, Connor made his way down the stairs, gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles had gone as white as the robe he wore.

His silent plea changed halfway down the flight of stairs.

_Don't fall over. Don't fall over. Don't throw up and fall over._

By the time he had made it down the stairs, he was shaking worse than he had been at the beginning of his excursion. He briefly wondered if he could make it back up the stairs and crawl back into bed, but decided against it. He honestly didn't know where he was, saw no sign of Murphy, and was sure that he was having a heart attack.

A trill of laughter caught Connor's attention, to his right he noted and he stumbled forward, determined to get answers.

He was surprised to see his brother sitting comfortably at the dining table, drinking coffee and chatting amiably with the writer.

_The fucking writer._

"Conn!" Murphy exclaimed, getting up immediately to throw his arms around his brother. He hefted the other man's weight onto his shoulder, refusing to let him fall. "Ye' scared the shit outta me." He added.

Connor allowed his brother to hug him and was thankful for his assistance. He blinked and narrowed his eyes, still focused on Blaise. "What the hell happened to me?" He demanded, his voice hoarse and raspy to the point of being unrecognizable even to his own ears.

Blaise, dressed in the same jeans she'd worn on the last visit to the prison, a t shirt and a cardigan, stood and pulled the chair at the head of the table out for Connor to sit in. "You... had a bad reaction to the drugs." She said slowly.

"A bad reaction?" Connor echoed stupidly as Murphy helped ease his shaking body into the high backed chair.

_Don't throw up._

Blaise shrugged and ran her hand through her loose hair. "I didn't know." She offered. "I mean... It seemed like an allergy, but you didn't display any symptoms, like hives or anything..." She turned her eyes away from the scowl she was getting. "I'm sorry."

Connor sighed. She'd done it. She'd gotten them out of Hoag. It was too good to be true. So, he nearly died. So, he was positive that he would never stop shaking and that there was a significantly good chance that we would vomit all over the really nice table that he was sitting at. But she'd made good on her promise. He cast a glance at his brother and realized he was wearing _new_ clothes. Nothing spectacular, a sweater and jeans so similar to what they'd worn in the fight with the Russians on Saint Patrick's oh so long ago, but the clothes were _new._

"It's okay." Connor said after a long moment.

Murphy ruffled his brother's hair affectionately and sauntered into the kitchen. He returned momentarily with a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin.

"Take the damn aspirin." Murphy chided when he saw the look of disgust cross his brother's face. "It'll help with the headache an' the water'll help with the spins."

With a grimace, Connor did as he was told. "How long was I out?" He asked between greedy gulps of the cold water.

"Two days." Murphy replied, taking his seat back across from Blaise. "You scared us." He added.

Connor noted that Murphy looked like he'd been awake for the entire time, and if Connor was going to be honest with himself, Murphy probably had been. He had a flash of a vision of Murphy sitting there on the other bed, rosary gripped white-knuckled in his hand as he begged and prayed that Connor would wake up.

"Can't kill me that easily." Connor replied with a weak smile. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the table. He still felt exhausted and was determined not to throw up. Leaning seemed to help with the shakes. "Where are we?"

"Boston." Blaise said slowly, biting her lip nervously.

Connor noticed how young she seemed, though she couldn't be that much younger than they were. She was less dressed up here, no need to be 'professional' and the scar against her cheek that ran down from the corner of her eye was a question he'd pose later.

"An' the cops ain't comin' round?" Connor asked. "I mean... what about th' explosion you promised."

Murphy and Blaise exchanged looks.

"Aw, Christ." Connor groaned. "What did I miss?"

"Nothin'." Murphy assured his brother. "We didn't even see it from 'ere."

"How far away from the site are we?" Connor asked as the neurons in his brain started to fire, functioning relatively normally now that he was beginning to feel a bit better.

"Coupla blocks." Murphy replied around a sip of coffee. "But no one bothered t' ask."

Connor growled his discontentment in German.

Blaise pointed at him. "He does it just to annoy me, right?" She asked with a smirk.

"Mostly." Murphy agreed.

"I hate you." Connor told Blaise. "An' you, fer encouraging her." He added accusingly to his brother.

Murphy smirked and Connor wanted to punch him, but he was afraid he'd fall over if he tried.

"Conn, relax, it's jus' a really bad hangover." Murphy said. "You owe her now." He added.

Blaise shrugged. "I can call Detectives Duffy and Dolly if you'd like." She told Connor. "I can send you right back to Hoag."

"Bullshit." Connor said gruffly.

"I'll make up a story." Blaise warned. "It's what I do, after all." She shot Murphy a look. "Your escape was miraculous, and you got in here because it was close and I was dumb enough to answer the doorbell. Stroke of divine providence – you showing up on the writer's doorstep. Make your Saint persona really seem tangible."

Connor narrowed his eyes, the crow's feet at the corners accentuating his displeasure.

It was all Murphy could do not to laugh.

"You actually know Dolly an' Duffy?" Connor asked after a thoughtful moment.

"Aye." Blaise said. "Old friends from way back when." She shrugged. "They come over sometimes when the day's been long an' the pub doesn't seem comforting." She frowned. "Dunno how I'll tell them I don't wanna see 'em while you're here."

"We're not staying long." Connor assured her.

"Ye'll stay as long as I tell you to." Blaise retorted. "Y' ain't outta the fire yet boys."

She looked Connor over. "Besides, you're in no shape t' walk outta 'ere as it is."

"She has a point, Conn." Murphy chimed in.

"_Fucking writers_." Connor sneered.

Blaise smirked. "Still nauseous?" She asked knowingly.

"I still hate you." Connor shot back.

"Oh pity." She countered. "Looks like the wedding's off then."

"Play nice, children." Murphy interjected before things could get out of hand. "What's the plan from here?"

Blaise shrugged. "You recuperate, hang out, let the buzz die down." She glanced at Connor. "Maybe be civil for a half-hour." She suggested. "Then we get you boys out of Boston."

"Arkansas?" Connor asked, shooting Murphy a look that said 'dumbass'.

Murphy resisted the urge to shove his brother out of the chair.

"Better." Blaise offered. "Canada."


	6. Verse 6

_AN: I think this is the most fun I've had sitting up all night writing in a long time. My hiatus is gonna start again in earnest in a few days, but you can have this while you wait. Ha ha, sending Connor to Canada makes me grin. Funnily enough, most of Boondock Saints was actually shot in Toronto. Go figure._

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

* * *

><p><strong>Verse 6<strong>

Connor and Murphy had been given a spare room – the same one where Connor had woken up. The beds were brought in especially for them, Blaise told them, shrugging it off like it wasn't a big deal. Blaise offered to separate them but Murphy waved the offer away. No point in making her life more difficult than it was already going to be.

She'd made good on her promise of beer, much to Murphy's delight, and they'd spent most of the next evening drinking and chatting.

Her sudden revelation of sending them off to Canada boded ill with Connor. She'd assured them that she'd be joining them, not that it was much of a comfort, and she'd argued with Connor for an hour. By the end of it, Murphy was relatively drunk and giggling stupidly at Blaise's sarcasm, fuelling Connor's dislike unintentionally. Murphy swore his brother had met his match.

Connor still didn't trust her and Murphy's unshakable faith in the woman annoyed him more than it should have.

She'd made every provision, they had more clothes available to them in the closet of the spare room than Connor had ever seen in his life, they had full access to anything in the house the needed, food, cigarettes, coffee, and she gave them each some money, just in case there was something they needed that she hadn't had the foresight to provide.

Connor sat awake in his bed, leaning against the wall with a frown on his face. He'd dressed in a pair of jeans and a thin grey sweater from the selection of items Blaise had picked out for them. She was remarkably good at guessing sizes. Connor made a note to ask her how she'd done it later. He sat with one knee tucked up, the other leg stretched out on the bed in front of him, barefoot.

Murphy was sleeping sprawled out on his stomach and snoring lightly in the other bed.

Connor's guess had been right, his brother hadn't slept in the two days he'd been unconscious and he wasn't about to begrudge his twin some much-needed rest.

Movement in the hallway spurred Connor to get up. It was late, somewhere after 1 am and he'd been certain that the house had gone to sleep. Quietly, he slipped out of his room and padded down the hallway.

The door at the end of the room was open and Blaise was sitting at the desk, working on something on her computer. Connor could see that it was a document of some sort, but not an email.

The office chair spun around and Blaise was suddenly facing him. Her hands were folded against her lap and she looked for all the world to be innocent. Or an evil mastermind. Connor wasn't sure which.

"Can't sleep?" Blaise asked with a small smile.

"No." Connor replied uneasily. He looked around the room. It was bigger than he'd expected, bigger than the room he and his brother were quartered in, but smaller than what he assumed the master bedroom looked like. There was a large desk with a computer on the wall across from the door, a bed made up to resemble a couch, and several large bookshelves. A cork board took up the majority of the empty wall space and random notes and things were pinned to it. There was a decent amount of empty space in the middle of the floor. The colour scheme of the house matched in this room as well.

"Come in?" Blaise offered as she noticed Connor was standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I won't bite ya'."

Connor took a few steps into the office and habitually closed the door behind him. Blaise stared intently at him, tilting her head slightly, but saying nothing.

In the moment there while Blaise stared at him, Connor made up his mind. He lunged forward, grabbing the back of the chair and leaning in close to Blaise.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" He demanded, getting right into her face and staring her down.

Blaise's face remained unchanged, as if his sudden anger did nothing to stun her.

"Blaise O'Malley." She replied. "Bestselling author of a dozen books on ev'rything from true crime to high fantasy."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Connor replied with a growl.

"Are you gonna hit me until I tell you what you wanna know?" Blaise asked calmly. "I thought that was against your rules."

Connor grabbed her shoulder. "I don't trust you." He snarled. "I haven't got a damn reason to trust you. For all I know, the drugs you gave us were meant to kill us and you're workin' for the mob."

Blaise stared at the hand on her shoulder. "Let go of me." She said coolly.

"Answer my questions." Connor demanded.

"Is this really how you wanna have this go?" Blaise asked.

Connor narrowed his eyes.

"You're really gonna go through with this?" Blaise asked again, a sarcastic smirk touching her lips. "All right, if you insist."

Connor growled and made to pull to her to her feet, but Blaise was quicker. She pulled a reversal on him, using his own weight and momentum to execute a perfect over-the-shoulder Judo throw. Connor hit the ground and Blaise landed on top of him, her leg against his chest and her knee threatening to press against his throat.

"Who the _fuck_ are you, to come in 'ere and start demanding answers o' me?" Blaise snarled, pinning Connor's hand down at the wrist with her own. She leaned over and stared him down. "After I pulled your ass outta Hoag, risked _my_ life to save ya', and am wastin' all my time to get you outta Dodge."

Connor set his jaw and said nothing.

Blaise wasn't expecting it. Connor grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg out from under her and forcing her closer to him. He rolled, reversing their position until he was straddling her, and pinning her down.

"Connor MacManus." He replied gruffly. "Half of the duo named the 'saints of South Boston'. An' I am your worst nightmare." He warned. "I wanna know, how you're funded, who you're working for and why you have such a vested interest in the well-being of myself an' my brother."

Blaise chuckled under her breath. "Telling you tha' we have mutual friends isn't gonna prove a damn thing t' you is it?" She asked, squirming against him. He'd pinned her hands down above her head. "I don't think you boys were wrong." She continued quietly, still smiling. "I don't think tha' you boys would intentionally hurt an innocent person." She added. "Casualties an' shit, sure. I mean, Greenly was a casualty. No' yer fault."

"Who is our 'mutual friend'?" Connor asked.

"Aside from Greenly an' Duffy an' Dolly?" Blaise drawled.

"Bullshit." Connor said flatly. "I don't buy it."

"Da' was a cop." Blaise reminded him. "I made friends." The smile disappeared. "But I suppose tha' the name Paul Smecker might weigh a bit more on ye."

Connor's recoil was almost comedic. She felt his grip on her loosen as he considered her words. It was all the distraction she needed. She slipped her legs up, tucking them against her body and she rolled backwards, pulling Connor forwards into a somersault.

Blaise was back on top. She pressed a hand against Connor's mouth and pinned his shoulders with her knees.

"Now, shut the _fuck up_ an' listen for half a second." She told him. "Or else I _will_ get violent, and you definitely don't wanna pick up a new scar from me."

Connor's blue eyes narrowed but he nodded. Blaise took her hand away from his mouth.

"I dunno how he found out about me, I don't care to know." She began. "But Smecker contacted me just after you boys came back. When the priest was killed? That's when he called me. He ain't dead, he's hiding."

Connor opened his mouth to say something, but he changed his mind when he caught the look on Blaise's face.

"Smart move." Blaise commended. "Anyway, he's off hidin' somewhere, kinda like what you did eight years ago. From what I understand, he's got that Bloom agent with him now too." Her nose wrinkled as she continued. "It is his idea to take you boys to Canada. I have a house there and no one will ask why I'm up in my place alone in the middle of autumn. I am 'funded' as you call it, from my own pocket. Being a bestselling author does have its perks. I'm here, doin' all this for you because I agreed with you. I supported you. An' _we used to fucking drink together a' McGinty's_."

Connor shook his head.

"You don' remember me, do you?" Blaise asked knowingly. "Good." She sniffled. "Used to drink beer down with the cops. Murphy _always_ hit on me. I was there, briefly on Saint Patrick's on the day you fought the Russians. I was in and out like a ghost. You boys bought me drinks, bummed my smokes, I nearly fought with Rocco on several occasions, and disappeared before last call without you noticing."

Slow recognition crossed Connor's face as he recalled the memories of his interactions with this girl.

"No way..." Connor mumbled.

"So now, if y' have enough sense about ya', will you trust me just fer a bit?" Blaise asked, leaning closer to Connor's face.

Connor nodded, but before he could say anything else, the office door opened.

Blaise looked up and Connor craned his neck to see the door. Murphy was standing there, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.

"Thought I heard something crashing." Murphy said sheepishly. "Didn't know you were uh..." He stopped and looked the scene over. He tilted his head thoughtfully, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. "Fuck, whatever you two are doin', this has ta be the weirdest sex I've e'er seen."

Blaise and Connor exchanged glances, scowled at each other as their eyes met, and Blaise got up, letting Connor collect himself from the floor.

"Shut it." Connor warned as he pushed past his brother and walked away.

Murphy gave Blaise a pleading look.

"Touchy, innit he?" She asked, rubbing her shoulder.

"What, exactly, did I just walk in on?" Murphy asked quietly, running his thumb against his lip as he stepped closer to Blaise.

Blaise sighed. "Nothing." She said. "You boys have some serious trust issues ta' work out."

Murphy smirked. He reached out to take Blaise's hand. "No, really, what just happened?"

"I kicked your brother's ass." Blaise said bluntly, a small smirk on her face. "Everything's fine. He doesn't seem ta' remember all our fun in the past."

"You okay?" Murphy asked, genuinely worried.

Blaise shrugged. "I've had worse fights sparring in martial arts. Your brother wouldnae hit a girl."

Murphy nodded. "I'll talk ta' him." He sighed.

Blaise patted his hand. "I think I got my point across." She offered.

Murphy smiled. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Anything." Blaise agreed with a nod. "My life is an open book, at this point."

"When we were in the ambulance... You said Smecker... D'you mean, like, _Agent Smecker_?"

Blaise nodded. "Yeah, who th' hell did you think would set up a plan like this to get your sorry selves outta Hoag?"

Murphy blinked and stared at her.

"Just trust me." Blaise said. "Things will be fine."


	7. Verse 7

_AN: Ha ha, that fight scene was fun. Blaise is a tough one. And Connor still doesn't trust her. Sigh, what am I gonna do with him?_

_Anyway, enjoy. Please leave a comment, I miss my Flock._

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 7**

Murphy and Connor had been arguing in their foreign languages for hours. Blaise ignored them. There was nothing she could say or do that would convince Connor that she was on the level, so she went about her own work as best she could.

The fight in the night had been interesting. Blaise had lain awake for hours, wondering just what she'd gotten herself into and silently thanking her father for insisting she learn to defend herself. She was still convinced that Connor wouldn't have actually hurt her, but the thought that he _could have_ still weighed heavily on her mind. She'd only slept a few hours, and she had to wonder if the argument between the brothers had been going on for longer than she was aware of it.

She'd pulled her shoulder throwing Connor in their fight – she had misjudged his weight – but she wasn't going to complain. She'd made her point and now she was hoping that Murphy would convince his stubborn brother that she was worth listening to.

She sat in her office quietly, browsing the internet, answering emails and writing off and on as she listened to the rapid verbal fight in the languages she couldn't understand. Once in a while, she rolled her shoulders or rubbed at the throbbing knot of muscles that were agitating her.

She smiled to herself – the Saints certainly were a handful.

The house suddenly grew very quiet. Blaise looked up from her work and got up from her desk. She crossed her office, bare feet padding gently against the hardwood floor. She opened the door just as Connor was about to knock. Murphy was standing behind his brother, arms folded.

"Back for more?" Blaise asked sarcastically, a smile planted firmly against her lips.

Connor opened his mouth to reply but Murphy nudged him.

"I want to apologize." Connor grumbled.

Blaise began to laugh. Her shoulders shook as she laughed. She wiped her eyes as she caught her breath.

"Oh God, that was a good one." She said lightly. She patted Connor on the shoulder. "All is forgiven." She assured him with a shake of her head. "Jus' don't let it happen again."

Connor's brow wrinkled in confusion. "A'right..."

"Look, boys, there's no need to apologize. There's no need for secrets and no need to lie." Blaise said calmly. "What do I stand to gain by hiding you? What do I gain by letting you die? If I was gonna sell you out, do you really think I would have brought you to my _house_ of all places?" She stared Connor down. "And I know you don't trust me. I dunno if you aren't dreaming about me, or whatever it is that tells you who to trust, but believe me, if I wanted you boys dead, we coulda just left you in the ambulance."

Connor rubbed the back of his neck and Murphy chewed his thumbnail. They both felt stupid, being chastised by Blaise for their ridiculous behaviour. They were acting like children and they had no right to. She'd done _everything_ for them hadn't she?

"I'm sorry." Connor apologized again, sincerely. "You're right. I acted stupidly."

Blaise shrugged, trying very hard not to wince. "Like I said, all's forgiven." She smiled. "Wanna watch a movie?"

The brothers didn't argue and Blaise led the way back downstairs. They followed meekly, almost afraid that she was going to change her mind all of a sudden.

"Popcorn?" Blaise suggested.

"Sure." Murphy agreed easily. "Want some help?"

"Naw." Blaise replied, heading into the kitchen. "DVDs are on the big shelf in the living room. Pick something!"

Connor and Murphy spent a long time picking a movie that they could agree on. Blaise returned with popcorn and drinks on a tray before they'd picked.

"Seriously?" Blaise asked when she realized that the brothers were still debating. She smiled and handed off the bowls of popcorn to the brothers.

"This one." Murphy said triumphantly, trading the DVD for the beer Blaise offered.

Blaise laughed but agreed.

They had settled on the couch, Connor against the far arm, Murphy in the middle and Blaise sitting with her legs folded up beneath her sharing Murphy's popcorn.

Murphy had picked _Star Wars_, much to Connor's chagrin.

Blaise and Murphy snickered and whispered as the movie played, making jokes back and forth at the film's expense. Connor sat quietly, wishing that they could have watched anything else.

At the scene where Obi-Wan and Luke were bargaining with Han Solo, the doorbell rang.

"Good timing." Blaise murmured.

"Expecting someone?" Connor asked, hoping for a reprieve from the movie.

"Yeah, kind of." Blaise replied, getting up from her spot and handing the bowl of popcorn back to Murphy. "But you boys can sit, enjoy the movie. You're safe."

Connor and Murphy exchanged looks but didn't ask further.

Blaise disappeared around the corner and answered the door.

The brothers grinned and exchanged looks of mischief when they heard the familiar Boston drawl come from the foyer.

"You okay?"

Blaise smiled. "Yeah. Fine."

"We heard about the explosion the other day. What a coincidence. I mean... that must've been terrifying. You sure you're okay?"

Blaise laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine. You boys wanna come inside for a second? I've got _Star Wars_ goin' and I 'ave beer, and popcorn..."

Blaise walked into her kitchen and went right for her fridge.

Detectives Duffy and Dolly accepted the offer and stepped into the living room, coats draped over their arms.

Connor and Murphy looked over from their places on the couch, grins on their faces.

"Yo." Murphy said around a mouthful of popcorn.

"Fancy seein' you boys here." Connor added.

Dolly dropped his coat and his jaw fell open in shock.

Duffy placed his hand against his head as Blaise returned from the kitchen holding two more beers.

"What the _actual fuck_ is going on here?" Duffy exclaimed.

Blaise smirked and handed her friends their drinks.

"Well, we _were _watchin' a movie." Blaise replied.

"How?" Dolly asked weakly as he accepted the proffered beer.

"It's a fuckin' miracle." Connor drawled.

"You wouldnae believe us if we told you!" Murphy agreed.

Duffy and Dolly exchanged looks, faces pale and sincere confusion creasing their eyes.

Connor and Murphy were on their feet, popcorn and movie forgotten as they crossed the room to shake hands with the detectives.

"I don't fuckin' believe it." Dolly croaked.

"Y' can't kill us that easily." Murphy said with a smile.

"How?" Duffy asked weakly.

Blaise smiled. "Come sit down, we'll tell ye all about it."

They sat around the big kitchen table. The detectives on one side, the Saints on the other and Blaise at the head of the table between Duffy and Murphy. They explained the situation, smirking the entire time as Dolly and Duffy sat in rapt silence, their faces pale and drawn.

The detectives exchanged glances of disbelief.

"You two have got to be the luckiest sons a' bitches I've ever met." Dolly said slowly.

Connor and Murphy laughed.

"Somethin' t' that extent." Connor replied.

"So how the hell did you end up drawing the straw to become these clowns' handler?" Duffy asked Blaise.

"Divine intervention." Blaise informed them with her own smile.

"Seriously?" Dolly asked. He wasn't the most devout of men, but the belief was there. He still doubted her sincerity on the divinity of her role in the matter.

"More or less." Blaise said with a shake of her head. "I suppose I have you boys to thank, really."

Duffy ran a hand through his short, greying hair. "Yeah, Greenly always said we'd be kicking ourselves fer letting you hang out with us."

Blaise pointed her finger accusingly. "Don' you dare tell me tha' you ain't havin' a better time since I waltzed back inta yer lives."

Dolly chuckled and lit a cigarette. "We'd be lyin' if we did." He admitted. "But your dad would kick our asses if he knew what you were up to."

Blaise stared the detective down.

Dolly visibly cringed at the glare and Connor nudged his brother. Blaise was a scary woman when she needed to be.

"Da' would have supported you, Dolly. He'd 'ave been on this side with us." Blaise argued. "An' don't you dare presume to tell me wha' my own father would have approved of, rest his soul."

"Sorry." Dolly said meekly.

Connor and Murphy laughed. Blaise certainly had a way with the men in her life.

"You're forgiven." Blaise said lightly.

"So what's the plan?" Duffy asked, finally getting down to brass tacks. "I mean, you boys aren't planning to start up again, right?"

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances.

"Oh, God, please tell me you're not seriously considering coming back from the dead." Dolly interjected before the brothers could say anything.

"Not as such..." Connor said slowly.

Blaise rolled her eyes. "They're dead, that's how it's gotta stay." She said firmly. "An' you two won't say anything, right?"

Dolly shook his head and motioned locking his lips.

"We'd be in worse trouble now." Duffy agreed. "We've got your backs, no matter what."

"We appreciate that." Murphy said sincerely.

"But what are you going to _do_?" Duffy pressed. "I mean, you're not planning to keep 'em here, are you?"

Blaise laughed. "Lord, no." She shook her head. "I might kill 'em myself if they stay." She smiled. "We have someone waiting for them elsewhere." She shrugged. "And I'm off to write a book, since my book deal for the Saints' story is being pulled since their untimely deaths."

"Yeah, speaking of," Connor interrupted, "what is the official story on that anyway?"

"The MacManus brothers passed away under unusual circumstances whilst serving their sentences in Hoag. It does not appear to be suicide and possible mob involvement is suspected. While we do not have a cause of death for the MacManus brothers available at this time, be assured that we are treating this case as a high priority." Dolly quoted.

"It's gonna be poison slipped in your food by the mob when they can't figure shit out from the charred corpses they dragged outta the wreckage of that ambulance though." Duffy added with a shrug. "And no one will admit to it in Hoag, so it gets swept under the rug."

"Our funeral is gonna suck." Murphy lamented.

"We can bury you if you really want." Blaise offered wryly.

"As long as the eulogy is short." Connor said. "I'd rather be drinkin'."

"How are you getting outta Boston?" Duffy asked, changing the subject back to their escape.

"Magic." Blaise said.

"Why are you avoiding my questions?" Duffy accused.

"Because you can't know where we're going." Blaise sighed. "As much as I wanna bring you boys with us – 'cause God knows we need as many friendly faces as we can get on our side – it's too dangerous for you boys. And my instructions are to keep you as far away from this as possible."

"Instructions?" Dolly parroted stupidly. "From whom?"

"Look, boys." Connor said sternly. "We're following a higher power here. Blaise hasn't even shared everything with _us_ and it's really our asses on the line here. If she's got a plan, and instructions about who she can and can't tell, I'm inclined to let her go with it." He shrugged. "Besides, you've gotta go find our killer, haven't you?"

Blaise stared at Connor in disbelief, though she tried very hard not to show it.

Dolly sighed. "Yeah, a'right. We'll let it go for now."

"You'll owe us an explanation if you don't get yerself killed." Duffy warned Blaise, patting her shoulder affectionately.

"Ha, yeah." Blaise replied with a smirk. "When I get th' boys off to their next destination, I'll buy y' both a round and we'll chat."

"That'll be two drinks you owe us then." Dolly reminded her. "You never did make it out to drink with us after Greenly's funeral."

"Haven't forgotten." Blaise assured her friend. "Now, don't _you_ get yourselves in trouble. I can't bury any more cops."

Dolly grinned and nodded.

When she'd finally managed to usher the detectives out the door she locked it and returned to the living room.

Connor and Murphy were talking quietly in German at the dining room table, and Blaise flopped onto the couch with a sigh of exhaustion.

Murphy got up and walked upstairs without a word.

Blaise shot a long glance at Connor, half afraid he would pull a repeat of his antics from the night before. She tucked her legs up under her as he got up from his spot and crossed the open floor into the living room. Star Wars had long been forgotten and the room was remarkably quiet.

"You said some things, earlier, to the detectives..." Blaise started. "Did you mean 'em?"

"What things?" Connor asked, standing near the couch, but far enough away to not seem like a threat. They were both extremely aware of what their altercation the night before meant and what it had done to their already fragile relationship.

"About trusting me." Blaise replied.

Connor was quiet for a long moment. "Yes."

Blaise nodded. "Have you dreamt about me yet?"

"There is truly no way for me to answer that question without sounding creepy and depraved." Connor shot back.

Blaise smiled. "Then the answer is yes, but not in a divine way like Murphy has."

Connor glared at her but didn't comment on it. Instead, he changed the subject. "Why didn't you tell them about Smecker?"

"Because he wants – no, needs – to stay dead." Blaise replied. "For you boys, it's all right to know, he assumed you wouldnae trust me without dropping his name, but for Duffy and Dolly, they have to be as oblivious as possible for this t' work. Probable deniability an' all."

Connor nodded slowly, it made sense and there was no reason to argue it.

"Will y' sit down?" Blaise asked suddenly, more agitated than she should have been. "Please?"

Connor did as he was asked and sat in the armchair with a sigh. "We're really going to Canada?"

Blaise smiled. "Yeah, it'll be good though." She assured him. "I have a nice place there, an' it's really pretty in the fall."

"Why Canada?" Connor asked.

Blaise shrugged. "Because I have a place there." She replied flatly.

Connor couldn't help but smile. "All right." He agreed reluctantly.

Connor stared at Blaise, as if he was just taking her in for the first time, as though he'd never really seen her until now. She was... something. He wasn't sure what, but there was something about her that made him want to scream, or run, or fall to his knees and beg her to give him absolution from the dark thoughts that haunted him. And he didn't know why. To him, she was perplexing, at best, and insufferable at the worst. She was human, as mortal as he was, and yet, he felt like there was something _more_ to her. A divinity that shouldn't exist in a mortal of flesh and blood. He vaguely wondered if he was losing his mind, or if maybe Murphy had been right in his initial assumption of the divine nature of Blaise's interruption of their lives.

"What's on your mind?" Blaise asked after a long moment of silence. "You've obviously got somethin' you need to talk to me about."

Connor blinked, pulled from his thoughts by her voice. "I feel like we got off to a bad start." He said slowly. "From the beginning, in Hoag. I was, how did you put it? Uncivil? And I think I owe you more of an apology than something mumbled at ye by force."

"An interesting thought." Blaise replied quietly.

"I still don't believe that you're sent here by God to aid us." Connor explained slowly. "I haven't dreamt about you at all. No offence."

"None taken." Blaise smirked.

"But..." Connor started. "There's no denying that you made good on your promise. And for that, I am thankful."

Blaise nodded quietly.

"And Murphy trusts you completely. That should be a sign in and of itself, I think." Connor continued. "So, what can I do to make this easier on all of us?"

Blaise stood and stepped right up to Connor. She placed a hand gently against his shoulder.

"Y' already have made it easier." She told him gently. "Now just trust me from here on and I will do my absolute best to keep you alive."

Connor stared up at her aqua eyes, searching for any trace of deception or slyness in them. He studied her for a long moment, still feeling that strange urge that he couldn't place.

Finally, he nodded. He would trust her completely.


	8. Verse 8

_AN: I haven't slept for 2 days, have to work, have to finish all this other work in my studio and feel like I am dying and I still write for you, Flock. I love you all!_

_And for the record, I'm not 100% sure what's going on in this chapter. :D _

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 8**

"What part of Canada are we going to?"

Blaise sighed as she pecked at her keyboard. Murphy was asking a million questions, sitting on the bed in her office and _talking_.

"Alberta." Blaise answered flatly, trying to concentrate.

"Ne'er been." Murphy replied. "What's it like?"

"Not as flat as Saskatchewan." Blaise grumbled, pressing her fingers against her temple in irritation.

"Ne'er been to Saskatchewan either." Murphy pointed out. "Why aren't we going to like, I dunno, the East coast? We'd fit in in Newfoundland or somethin' right? All the Irish immigrants there?"

Blaise spun around on her chair staring daggers at the annoying MacManus.

"We are going to _Alberta_ because I have a place there already. I hate the East coast because of the Irish immigrants, and realistically I'd much rather drop you an' yer brother out in the middle of Manitoba closer North and beyond Churchill and pray that you get fucking eaten by polar bears." She growled. "But as such, I am stuck with th' both of ye until we can get you set up and moved out in accordance with Smecker's plan."

Murphy stared at her. "You don' have t' be so _angry_."

Blaise motioned strangling Murphy and he laughed.

"I'm sorry." He said with a grin.

"You're worse than Connor." Blaise sighed. "What's with all the questions today?" She asked. "And why are you following me around like a puppy today?"

Murphy shrugged. "Seemed like th' thing t' do?" He suggested. "Are my questions annoying?"

"Yes." Blaise said with a smirk. "But I suppose they're reasonable." She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She was exhausted. She hadn't slept since the fight with Connor. Even though he apologized and promised to trust her, there was still something keeping her awake, more than usual. "But I'm gonna have t' answer all the same questions when Connor starts askin' 'em, aren't I?"

Murphy shrugged.

"You're such a bloody handful." Blaise complained.

Murphy grinned cheekily. "Sorry."

Blaise waved it away. "It's all right." She smiled tiredly. "What can I answer for you that doesn't involve the secrets about the plan?"

"How are you gettin' us across the border?" Murphy asked immediately.

"I'm pumping you full of drugs and sneaking you across in the trunk of an '86 Lincoln Town car. I've bribed most of the people working the border on the day we're crossing, so it shouldn't be a problem." Blaise replied in a perfect deadpan.

"Oh." Murphy said simply, a frown crossing his face. "Does Connor know about this?"

Blaise laughed. "No. Why? Do you think it's too over the top?"

"Only a lot." Murphy agreed.

"Good thing we're just flying then." Blaise replied.

Murphy laughed in return. "Maybe Conn is right, maybe I shouldn't trust you!"

"Might be a smart thing to do." Blaise informed the Saint wryly.

"A'right, so we're jus' going?"

"Easy peasey." Blaise promised.

Murphy nodded. "Fair enough." He agreed. He looked around the room. "Can we go out somewhere?" He asked after a long moment. "Anywhere?" He added. "I gotta get outside."

A frown crossed Blaise's face. "Sure." She said slowly. "Where do you wanna go?"

Murphy shrugged and stood up, eager to get outside, to get away from the confinement of a house. "Doesn't matter." He said. "I just need to walk."

Blaise nodded and stood as well. "Y' wanna tell Conn we're going?"

Murphy shrugged. "Not like he'll join us." He replied. "He's got his own things to work out in 'is head right now."

Blaise nodded again understandingly and led the way down the hallway and to the front door. Murphy pulled his work boots and pea coat on unceremoniously as Blaise carefully put on her royal purple Chucks. She pulled a denim jacket from the closet and they were ready to go.

"Conn!" Murphy called in Russian. "Goin' out! Takin' the girl with me!"

Blaise cocked her eyebrow and smirked but didn't comment. She opened the door and let Murphy outside first.

They walked down the street in silence, away from the explosion site – Murphy would do anything to avoid seeing the spot, even if it was cleaned up by then. He was still in shock that they'd actually managed to pull it off. But that was old news now.

They walked quietly and Murphy lit a cigarette without hesitation. He offered one to Blaise out of habit, but she declined.

"You wanna talk about whatever's buggin' you?" Blaise asked after a few minutes of silent, tense walking.

"Hard t' put it into words." Murphy replied slowly.

"It's a funny thing." Blaise countered thoughtfully. "As soon as someone knows that I'm a writer, they get all quiet and use 'it's hard to put into words' as an excuse for mumbling and stumbling through a thought. Or for being incoherent. Jus' 'cause I'm a writer doesnae mean tha' I can't understand you when you speak plainly."

Murphy smiled and blew smoke rings into the air. "Part of me is itchin' to get back t' work, y'know." He said. "An' I know we can't, but that's still there." He sighed and took another drag of his cigarette. "An' another part of me is scared beyond comprehension." He turned his tired eyes to Blaise. "I mean, I saw my brother nearly die in the ambulance. I've ne'er been so scared in all my life. An' I was scared for _him, _not even myself." He frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. "I mean, I'd still be alive an' all, that wouldnae even matter, but the thought of losing Conn..." He shuddered.

"Issat all?" Blaise asked quietly, finally realizing just how deep the Saints' bond with one another ran.

"No." Murphy admitted. "Bein' locked up wasn't terribly good either. But that's done now." He looked at the woman walking beside him. She'd done so much for them without thinking about herself, her own safety or what it would mean if she was caught. It was selfless and foolish and he loved her for it. He didn't know how she made Connor feel, but she had a similar effect on him – he adored her and regarded her as a guardian angel – and he knew that he would do anything that she asked without hesitation.

"Tha's why y' needed to go out?" Blaise pressed. "To prove you're not a prisoner anymore?"

"Pretty much." Murphy agreed with a sigh. "It's nice t' be able to walk outside without a guard."

"I'm glad you don't think o' me as a guard." Blaise smirked.

"Ne'er." Murphy replied, tossing aside the butt of his cigarette. "Conn is still a bit wary o' you though. An' he's had me wond'ring about the validity of my dreams about you now. Not t' say you're no' on the level though." He added quickly.

"I understand." Blaise replied with a curt not. "But everything's gonna be all right. I promise."

Murphy nodded slowly. "Are we jus' s'posed to be in hiding for the rest of our lives?"

Blaise smiled. "Can't tell y' that." She admitted. "Spoilers, y' know."

Murphy cast a sideways glance at her and smiled. "Yeah, I can wait. I'd rather let th' rest of my life be a surprise than a plan, I think."

"Would Connor agree with that?" Blaise asked.

"Prob'ly not." Murphy admitted. "But tha's all right. So long as y' don't sell us out, I think we'll be fine."

"Thought ne'er crossed my mind." Blaise assured him.

Unconsciously, Murphy reached out to take her hand as they walked, a comforting gesture really, one of reassurance and to prove that she was actually tangible. Blaise didn't object and she wrapped her fingers through his, thankful for the trusting gesture.

Both of them grew silent, walking hand in hand and lost in their own thoughts.

It was going to be a huge gamble, but they were willing to take it.


	9. Verse 9

_AN: Finally, a little more action! And then, it's off to Canada. And no, Murphy and Blaise are not falling in love. The hand-holding was more symbolic of his trust in her than a romantic thing. AAAANNNYYWAY..._

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 9**

"We have to do this job before we go." Connor said flatly.

"No!" Blaise said, her voice rising in agitation. "You can't. You're dead. There's no way in hell that I'm gonna allow this."

Connor was sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Murphy was leaning over his shoulder, looking at the newspapers in front of his brother. There were some articles printed from the Internet as well and Murphy had to admit that his brother had done a damn good job doing his research.

"It's kind of our thing." Connor argued back.

Blaise was standing at the mouth of the kitchen, hands on her hips. She'd been in the process of preparing a meal when Connor had sauntered down the stairs with the bundle of papers in his hand. She and Murphy had returned from their walk to nowhere after being gone for over an hour to find Connor already prepared with his argument.

"You know, Blaise, he has a point." Murphy said flatly, reading over Connor's shoulder.

"You promised Duffy an' Dolly that you weren't gonna start back up." Blaise countered weakly.

"No we didn't." Connor shot back.

"We kind of did." Murphy mumbled.

Connor elbowed his brother lightly in the stomach.

"You can't go on a killing spree – you're supposed to be dead." Blaise said again. "You wanna get outta here? You gotta stay dead."

"We won't do the pennies." Connor said. "We'll change our M.O."

"No." Blaise said firmly.

"You know that you can't stop us, right?" Connor said.

"Like hell I can't." Blaise shot back.

"She could kick your ass a second time, Conn." Murphy warned.

Blaise smirked at the comment.

Connor stood up. "Blaise, please." He asked. "I'm dyin' in here. I'm sure Murph is too."

"You leave me outta yer beggin'!" Murphy said with a smirk. He had to admit that he was beginning to feel the pull, the restless tug that haunted him in Hoag. Knowing that there were still bad men – no, _evil men _- out there doing their evil deeds and that he and his brother weren't able to stop them, well it was almost too much.

And, Connor had found them without even the slightest provocation.

"I can't let you do this." Blaise said again, less firmly. Her resolve was wavering. She _knew_ that the Saints had to stay dead. There was no other way that they could go about it, but she also knew that there was no way she'd be able to stop them if they had their guns set on killing evil men.

Sensing his opportunity, Connor stepped forward and took Blaise's hands in his own and stared her in the eyes.

"Please, Blaise." Connor asked quietly. "Let us go back to work. Jus' this one? An' then we'll go wherever you want us to."

It was all Murphy could do not to burst out laughing. Connor was all but on his knees begging and the look of pleading in his eyes was enough to melt even the coldest heart. Murphy wouldn't have been surprised if Connor offered to take Blaise out on a date the way he was carrying on.

Blaise hesitated.

Murphy held his tongue.

Connor begged silently with his eyes.

And the moment was ruined when the phone began to ring.

Blaise pulled her hands away from Connor, turning quickly to hide the red creeping into her cheeks. Connor scowled and flopped back down into his seat with a huff. Murphy patted his brother's shoulder.

"Nice try." He whispered in German. "You almost had her."

"Ja." Connor replied with a sigh, sticking with German. "I know."

"Hello?" Blaise answered the phone quietly. She was silent for a long moment. "You have excellent timing, my friend." She added. "I'm gonna put you on speaker all right?" She asked, turning to face the brothers. "They're both right 'ere an' I think it'd be much better comin' from your mouth than mine."

The brothers exchanged confused glances as Blaise pushed the button on her landline to make the cordless phone a speakerphone.

"Connor, Murphy." The drawl was unmistakable. "I know you boys have seen the papers, but you _have to stay put_."

"Smecker!" Connor and Murphy exclaimed in unison.

"Holy shit!" Murphy exclaimed further. "We thought you were dead!"

Connor shot Blaise a look of hurt and mouthed the words 'I'm sorry.' Blaise nodded in reply.

"Where are you?" Connor asked immediately, returning to the conversation.

"Can't say yet." Smecker replied through the phone. "But we'll see each other soon enough."

There was a moment of silence before Smecker continued.

"Now, listen boys. I know you wanna go after these scumbags, but now is not a very good time to do it. You're supposed to be dead and I am positive that you've already seen Dolly and Duffy and promised them you wouldn't start back up again."

"So Blaise has talked to you already?" Connor asked.

"Good Lord, no." Smecker replied. "Don't be so droll. I just know you." He chuckled through the phone. "Now you sit tight and leave 'em be. You'll be out of there in no time and then we can move on to the really big things."

"You've got a plan for us?" Murphy asked excitedly.

"Of course!" Smecker promised. "But don't make a scene."

"Fine..." Murphy said, disappointed.

"Thank you." Smecker said. "Blaise, take me off speaker."

Blaise did as she was asked and put the phone back to her ear. "Yes?"

"They're still going to go out, aren't they?" Smecker asked.

Blaise glanced at the Saints, still poring over the articles Connor had found. "Likely." She agreed.

"Just make sure they don't get caught?" Smecker asked.

Blaise sighed. "Yeah, I can do that." She agreed.

"Ciao." Smecker said.

"Bye." Blaise replied. She hung up the phone and stared at the brothers. She had a bad feeling that she was going to be in for a handful.


	10. Verse 10

_AN: I dunno what to say! Your responses are wonderful and I love you all. Thank you so so much for coming back and reading. It means the world to me. Finally, more action. It's so much more interesting to write. And it means that I can delay their flight to Canada. Ha ha! _

_Cheers._

_-Shazzy_

**-Verse 10-**

No one ever told the MacManus brothers what to do. They waited until Blaise had gone to bed for the night and crept silently out the back door. It was well after 1 am by the time they left.

"An' where d'you suppose we get guns, huh Connor?" Murphy hissed as he followed his brother out into the night. They had to walk, there was no way they could get away with stealing Blaise's car – she would kill them herself if they dared. Besides, the further away from it that they could keep Blaise, the better.

The sky was black, there was no moon and a light cloud cover hid the stars. Murphy watched his breath puff out from his mouth as he spoke. He wouldn't admit that he was secretly happy that they'd actually gotten out of the house and were about to bring justice to evil men, that would mean that Connor was right, and there was no way that he could deal with his brother gloating.

"I've already figg'red all that shit out." Connor hissed back, picking up his pace as they walked through the night. "S'already handled."

"Handled?" Murphy echoed, his voice rising in agitation. "Handled? Ah, yer so full a' shit, Conn. Can't we just go back? We got er'rything we need back at Blaise's an' we're outta here in less'n 72 hours!"

"Aye." Connor replied flatly. "Off ta' Canada. Off ta' the wild frozen North. But 'ow much bad shit can these guys do in th' 72 hours we're gonna be sittin' on our asses, huh?" He asked rhetorically.

Murphy frowned and sniffled. Connor had a point. "Blaise is gonna kill us." He warned.

Connor shrugged. "We're already dead, how bad could it be?"

"She can kick your ass a second time." Murphy pointed out.

"Naw." Connor replied. "Trust me, she'll be glad ta' know we did this one."

Murphy didn't say anything further, a shadowy figure was approaching the brothers, a large duffel bag in his hand.

"And wha's all this?" Murphy asked.

"Toldja, I 'ad it all figg'red out." Connor said lightly. "Hey, Troy, got our gear?"

The familiar gun dealing Irishman smirked. "Yeah, y' owe me fer this one." He said. "How'd you make it outta Hoag? I heard you boys were dead."

"Like Lazarus, we rise." Connor said mysteriously.

"Well whatever." Troy said with a chuckle. "Jus' don't lemme hear about ye on the news."

"We ain't gonna get caught." Connor agreed.

Troy handed over the bag. "Good luck, boys." He said sincerely. "I 'ope you get whatever it is yer after. God love ya."

With a wave, he melted back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he'd arrived.

"Toldja." Connor said. "Handled."

"You're gonna get me killed again." Murphy said, crossing himself.

Without another word between them, the brothers strode off into the night.

They stumbled back into Blaise's house in the wee hours of the morning. The sun hadn't even begun to peek over the horizon as the brothers returned through the back door, the same way they left.

Connor left Murphy in the dining room as he crept up the stairs. He made his way quickly down the hallway, stopping in front of Blaise's bedroom door.

The room was dark, the door was ajar, open just enough for Connor to peer inside.

"Blaise?" Connor whispered.

When she didn't answer, he shouldered the door open gently, slipping into the dark room quietly. He walked across the short space and crouched by her bed. Blaise was sleeping on her side, curled up with one arm under her head and facing the door. Her quilt was pulled up to her chin and her hair was messy, loose and draped over her face.

"Hey? Blaise?" Connor whispered again, staring at her sleeping form. Part of him had imagined that she never slept. Another part of him was immediately guilty for being in her room without permission. Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed her hair from her face. "Hey? Can you hear me?"

Blaise groaned gently under her breath as Connor's fingers brushed her cheek. "You smell like gunpowder and cigarette smoke." She mumbled. "I don't have the chainsaw." She added, talking in her sleep.

Connor blinked and frowned. "Why do I need a chainsaw?" He asked immediately, confused.

Blaise mumbled something incoherent and Connor's frowned deepened. "Hey, wake up." He hissed. He placed his hand more firmly against Blaise's shoulder. "Murphy is hurt."

Blaise's eyes snapped open. She shifted just enough so that she could stare at Connor. "What are you doing in my room?" She demanded.

"Murphy is hurt." Connor said.

Blaise squinted and reached out to turn on the bedside lamp. She blinked in disdain at the light and took Connor in.

"You went out?" Blaise accused.

"You can be mad at me after." Connor said. "I need your help. Murphy is hurt pretty badly."

Blaise sat up, eyes wide. "Where is he?" She asked.

"On the floor in the dining room."

Blaise huffed under her breath. "All right, go into my office, there's a big blue container in the bottom of the closet. That's my first aid kit. Bring it downstairs, I'll go attend to Murphy."

Blaise got up quickly. Connor stood to get out of her way. He couldn't help but stare as she moved past him. She was wearing simple pyjamas; a pair of plaid boxers and an oversized T shirt. Her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor as she moved quickly and it wasn't until she was out of sight that Connor realized that his brother was potentially dying on the floor in the kitchen.

Connor found the first-aid kit easily, right where Blaise had said it would be. He lifted it with a grunt, it was heavier than he'd expected.

"Connor! Hurry!" Blaise called from downstairs in the dining room.

Connor's stomach dropped. The urgency in her voice made him fear the worst – and he wasn't about to lose his brother. He stomped down the stairs carrying the medical kit.

"Set it down close to me and take the lid off." Blaise said.

Connor did as he was told.

Murphy was unconscious, lying on the floor. His thigh was bandaged with a piece of cloth from his shirt and blood was dripping through the makeshift tourniquet.

"This is bad." Blaise said without even taking the strips of cloth off of Murphy's leg. "What happened?"

"Murph got hurt." Connor replied distantly.

"Knife? Gun? Rabid dog?" Blaise pressed, eyeing Connor. "You all right?"

"Just worried." Connor said, shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. "Bullet." He answered.

"You two have the same blood type?" Blaise asked further, rummaging through her kit and pulling out supplies. She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves as she rummaged.

"No." Connor said slowly, having to think about it for a moment. "I don't think so, anyway."

Blaise looked up at him. "How do you two do what you do without knowing something like that?" She asked.

Connor shrugged. "Can I help?" He asked.

Blaise pulled out some long strips of elastic tubing. She wrapped one around Murphy's leg above the other tourniquet to try to staunch the bleeding.

"I don't think I can fix this." She said slowly. "The amount of blood he's losing is suggesting something that I am not trained to handle." She cast a worried look at Connor, knowing that the hospital was out of the question. "I don't wanna risk fucking up." She explained. "If I make it worse, he could die on my floor."

"So what can we do?" Connor asked, his voice rising in panic.

"I'm O- so I'll give him a blood transfusion." Blaise said slowly. "Go get my cell phone." She instructed as she wrapped another elastic around her arm. "Go into the contacts, under Q, and call Quinn."

"Who th' fuck is Quinn?" Connor asked roughly.

"He's the medic who brought you 'ere in the first place." Blaise said, prepping a needle to stick in Murphy. "He's trained to do this sort of stuff better'n I am."

"Okay..." Connor hesitated for a moment, but seeing Blaise pulling off Murphy's jacket to start the transfusion, it really dawned on him that he had no choice. He bolted up the stairs, shoes thudding against the hardwood as he rushed back into Blaise's room. Her phone was on the nightstand and he scrolled through the contacts until he found Quinn.

The phone rang and it felt like forever to Connor before the gruff voice answered. "Blaise?"

"No, this is Connor." Connor said hoarsely, his voice tight with worry. "Blaise said t' call you. Murphy's hurt and she doesnae think she can handle it."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "Where are you?"

"Blaise's house?" Connor said hesitantly.

"I'll be there in ten." Quinn said. "Tell me what happened and what's going on."

"Gunshot wound." Connor said, hurrying back down the stairs. "In Murphy's thigh. Lots o' blood." He stopped dead when he saw Blaise sitting on a chair next to the prone Murphy with a tube running between their arms. The tube was filled with blood as it ran from Blaise to her patient.

"Blaise is giving him a blood transfusion right now." Connor added weakly.

"Whose blood?" Quinn asked.

"Hers." Connor replied.

"I'll be there in five."


	11. Verse 11

_AN: Is it wrong if I sit here and laugh maniacally?_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 11**

Connor opened the door immediately and the familiar-to-the-unconscious-Murphy EMT strode into the house.

"Hey." Blaise said from her place on the chair.

"How much have you fed into him?" Quinn asked gruffly, setting down his own medical kit and hunkering down next to Murphy.

"Dunno." Blaise replied simply. "Probably a half pint so far."

Quinn stared at her, taking in the fact that she was in nothing more than a pair of boxers and a T shirt. "Were you sleeping?"

"Miracle, innit?" Blaise replied with a small smile.

Quinn nodded, talking as he began to cut away the leg of Murphy's blood-soaked jeans. "You and your bloody insomnia." He said lightly, focused on the task at hand, but easily carrying on the conversation. "Those shorts make you look hot as hell."

"Save it." Blaise warned with a laugh. "Smecker'll be pissed if Murphy dies on my floor."

"No' as much as I'll be." Connor interrupted weakly.

"No one's dyin' tonight." Quinn said.

Connor was perturbed. Quinn wasn't Irish, wasn't even from Boston. Part of him didn't want to trust this outsider, but he knew that if Blaise and Smecker both trusted him...

"Okay, you did good so far, Blaise." Quinn said. "Got the bleeding mostly stopped. Connor, pass me those forceps." He instructed, pointed a bloody, gloved hand at the tools he'd prepared.

Connor did as he was told.

"And the tweezers." Quinn added.

Connor obliged.

"Alright." Quinn said quietly. "Here we go."

Connor watched with baited breath, kneeling and praying over his brother's prone body. He prayed harder than he had while watching Il Duce interrogate the assassin in McGinty's.

_Please, God. Please let him be all right. Please please please..._

Quinn didn't say anything else to Connor as soon as he saw the Saint go into prayer mode. He'd already seen Murphy do the same in the back of the ambulance and he knew that interrupting would be unwise.

He worked quietly, keeping half an eye on Blaise to make sure that she didn't keel over from pumping too much of her blood into Murphy. Carefully, he pulled the bullet from Murphy's leg and dropped it on the towel he'd spread his tools out on. Quinn pulled the forceps a little wider to mkae sure nothing was ruptured, and despite the burst of blood that pooled beneath Murphy's leg as the bullet came out, it seemed that they'd been lucky.

"Missed the artery." Quinn announced. "He'll be fine."

Tears poured freely from Connor's eyes as he doubled over in thanks, prostrating himself in worship and praise. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Quinn looked at Blaise momentarily. "You okay?"

Blaise nodded. "Got a bit left in me, yeah."

"Lemme know if you get weak, darlin'."

"I know, Quinn." Blaise assured her friend. "This ain't m' first rodeo."

Quinn nodded and set back to work, closing Murphy's wound.

When Murphy was taken care of, the medic and the Saint moved the unconscious man to the couch and let him sleep.

Blaise was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of orange juice with a plate of as of yet untouched cheese and crackers than Quinn had insisted she eat in front of her, and holding the puncture wound closed, her arm bent up at the elbow.

Quinn cleaned up his equipment and Connor finally got up from his brother's side and approached Blaise.

Blaise looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with dark circles and her skin paler than usual from the blood loss. Connor leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"I owe you more than I can ever repay." He said.

Blaise smiled tiredly. "You can start by telling me what happened." She said flatly. "You're in so much trouble, young man."

Connor stifled a chuckle and sat down tiredly at the table as well. He cast one final glance at his brother and sighed. "Where d'you want me to begin?" He asked.

Quinn sat down next to Blaise, intentionally monitoring her. She'd given more blood than he's have recommended.

"From the beginning, I think, Conn." Blaise said quietly between sips of her juice. "I still cannae believe tha' you went out like that."

"Had to." Connor argued. "We can't jus' sit around 'ere, Blaise. It's killin' us."

Blaise gave Connor a pointed look. "I'd say it was actually th' blood loss." She argued.

Connor nodded. He couldn't win.

"From the beginning?" He asked.

"From the very beginning." Blaise agreed.

Connor took a deep breath, rolling the words around in his head and started the recap.


	12. Verse 12

_AN: FLASHBACK! Well... story time, anyway. This took me a while to figure out and I really hope that I'm not soapboxing. Maybe I am. Don't care. Enjoy._

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**Verse 12**

Connor and Murphy sat quietly in the kitchen as Blaise shuffled around upstairs. The papers that Connor had printed out sat spread out between the brothers on the table. A cigarette smouldered quietly between Murphy's lips and Connor cradled his head in his hands.

Blaise had been adamant about them not going, but the evidence was overwhelmingly in favour of the brothers beginning their mission anew.

Murphy read the papers, the names, the list of charges against the target and his face paled and contorted with shock, disgust and rage with every new entry on the list.

"Mother fucker..." Murphy breathed, ashing his cigarette. "Th' guy's name is Robbie DeLaney. Conn, this guy ain't even mob."

"He has connections." Connor pointed out. "Racketeering, drug running, prostitution, sex trafficking... Underage prostitution." He listed.

The last charge was what pushed Murphy over the edge. The brothers were more than righteous, and they had rules. No women, no kids. Violence towards either of those demographics was more than enough to tip the scales and to fuel their brand of righteous vengeance. Put the two together, and, well, you'd best pray that you get thrown in jail before the Saints found you.

"The man's a sick bastard, I'll g'ie ye tha', but Blaise said to stay put." Murphy argued. "We can't jus' go runnin' willy-nilly about Boston. We're supposed t' be dead."

"Think about how much more shit this DeLaney bastard can bring down upon countless more victims." Connor said reverently. "It's our duty – no! - our divine right, to put this son of a bitch out of society's misery."

"An' what happens when we get pinched, again?" Murphy countered. "If we get caught, what d'you think is gonna happen to Blaise?"

Connor frowned and cast his eyes down at the table.

Murphy shook his head. "No, Conn." He said in disbelief. "You wouldnae sell 'er out like tha'! I know you better than that."

Connor stared at Murphy, his blue eyes blazing with righteous anger. He spoke calmly, his words even. "You're right. I wouldn't sell her out. But she's standing in our way. We're dead to the world, but not dead at all. We have no right to be sittin' here on our arses, plannin' a vacation to Canada when there are men like this DeLaney bastard runnin' around unchecked. Believe me, Murph, I love 'er as much as you do, but I can't keep sitting here, feeling the pull, hearing our calling and living with the knowledge that _we're not doing anything_."

Murphy fidgeted in his seat.

"All right, fine." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "But I'm no' takin' the blame for this!"

Connor snorted a chuckle and patted his brother on the shoulder. "We go when she's asleep." He added.

Murphy stared blankly at his brother. "You know as well as I do tha' she never sleeps."

"That's a chance we'll jus' have to take." Connor replied.

Blaise settled around one in the morning and Connor led the way out. The brothers walked quietly, Murphy was far more reluctant to go than he cared to admit. When they met up with Troy in the shadows in the alleyway and he had guns once again in his hands, Murphy had to admit that his anxiety was suddenly a lot less prominent.

"Still don't like this." Murphy grumbled as they slipped the familiar holsters over their shoulders and under their jackets.

"You can turn around and go home if you want." Connor snapped.

Murphy shook his head. "No way."

"Then stop complainin'." Connor chided. "Besides, it's all downhill from here."

The hit was going to take place at a run down apartment building, similar to the illegal lofts the brothers had called home for many a year. They pushed open the doors and walked in casually, no one even asked who they were.

The inside of the building was just as run-down as the outside, with rotting plaster hanging off of the walls, and the scraps of faded wallpaper hanging here and there. What had once been a luxury apartment had fallen into a state of disrepair and neglect. The entire main floor smelled like mold and smoke. There was some furniture pushed up against the walls and drugged out men and women alike lounged on the threadbare loungers, dull and glassy eyes following the brothers as they passed.

"Christ..." Murphy breathed as they made their way up the stairs.

"S'worse than I thought." Connor muttered.

The entire building was a flophouse, filled with druggies and whores. Luckily for everyone involved, there wasn't anyone who looked terribly underage. Murphy wasn't about to let that go.

Connor grabbed one rail thin hooker by the arm as they passed. "Where's DeLaney?" He asked.

The girl blinked stupidly, too high to comprehend the question.

"DeLaney." Connor asked again.

The girl sniffled and nodded towards the end of the hall. "In his office." She sneered. "But he's not in charge of rentin' us out." She added, suggestively as she looked Connor over.

Murphy leaned forward. "Thanks, but we're together." He spat, shoving Connor forward, past the girl. "I'm gonna kill this bastard m'self, Conn." He muttered as they walked carefully down the hallway.

Connor smirked. "That's th' spirit." He said, ignoring the fact that Murphy had just insinuated that they were a couple.

"So you don't have some elaborately insane plan this time?" Murphy asked.

"Not really." Connor admitted. "Didn't think that would go over much better'n us even being here int he first place."

"At least you're learning." Murphy joked.

The door at the end of the hallway opened and DeLaney stood there, framed by the rotting door frame. Connor and Murphy stopped and stared. DeLaney stared back.

A moment passed where no one moved.

DeLaney broke first.

"Holy SHIT!" He yelled, backing up into his 'office'. Connor could see several other men sitting in the room beyond.

"I dare say we've been recognized." Connor drawled as the door slammed in front of them.

Murphy grinned and the brothers drew their guns.

Connor kicked open the door, Murphy was in the room first as the first bullets flew.

Murphy ducked back out as quickly as he'd stepped in, shoving Connor against the rotting wall.

"They have automatics!" Murphy shouted. "What the _fuck_ did you get us into?"

Connor didn't really have a chance to answer as bullets began ripping through the rotting plaster of the walls around them. A stray bullet managed to hit the girl in the hallway in the back, eliciting a scream of shock and pain and rousing the rest of the washed out people in the building to investigate the gunfire.

Armed men appeared from God-knew-where, weapons pointing at the brothers.

"_Fuck_." Connor growled as he fired the first shot, killing the first of the approaching armed men.

"Real nice plan, Conn." Murphy yelled as the brothers found themselves attacked from both sides.

"At least you're not dangling from a fucking rope this time." Connor shot back.

Murphy laughed over the gunfire as his bullets found their marks. "Cover me." He said as he nudged open the 'office' door.

Connor did as he was told, felling the men filing up the stairs and laying down enough cover fire for Murphy to get a few good shots in.

They cleared the room, said their prayer and were about to fight over whether or not to place the pennies before Connor even noticed that Murphy was hurt.

"Murph?" Connor shouted as his brother collapsed. "Murph?! Shit!"

Connor was on his knees in an instant next to his unconscious brother. Gloved hands pulled off Murphy's jacket as Connor frantically searched every inch of his brother's body for injuries. Of course, the wound _had_ to be on Murphy's leg.

"You bastard." Connor muttered. "Don't you fucking die on me, Murph!" He shoulted at his unconscious brother as he pulled his own belt off and wrapped it around Murphy's thigh. "I'll kill you if you die."

Connor leaned forward, holding his ear against Murphy's mouth, checking for breath. Murphy wasn't dead, and that was a good thing. Connor pulled his brother's jacket back around him and hoisted Murphy onto his shoulder, intending to carry him back to Blaise's house.

It was a long walk, but Connor managed it, somehow.

Blaise and Quinn exchanged looks, equal parts impressed and pissed off at the whole situation.

"You've gotta be the luckiest sons a' bitches I've ever met." Quinn mused.

Connor ran his hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly.

Quinn stood up, stifling a yawn with his hand. "Okay, well, I'm gonna get outta here." He said slowly. "Blaise, you take it easy. No more losing blood for a while, okay?"

Blaise smirked. "Yeah yeah."

Quinn nodded. "Murphy should be all right. Just make sure that wound doesn't get infected. If anything changes, you've got my number and I'm only ten minutes away. If he gets a fever or that wound goes septic, you're likely screwed." He reached into his bag. "When he wakes up, give him these antibiotics, follow the instructions on the label and you should be all right." He instructed, handing the little bottle to Blaise.

Blaise smiled genuinely. "Thank you." She said quietly.

"Good luck." Quinn said, giving Connor one last look before he left.

Blaise and Connor sat quietly at the table for a long moment.

"Go take a shower." Blaise said finally. "I'll keep vigil for now."


	13. Verse 13

_AN: Sorry this took so long. Been REALLY busy IRL. Also, I found out that a friend has written a BDS3 spec script and there's a "deleted scene" that she took out of the script posted up on tumblr. It's awesome, it's called "Conjugal Visit" and I laughed too hard when I read it. Go find her: .com and tell her I sent you. _

_Slainté_

_-Shazzy_

**-Verse 13-**

Connor came back downstairs as quickly as he could, clean and changed and on the edge of a panic attack. Blaise was curled up in the armchair, resting her head against the arm and staring at Murphy with wide eyes. Murphy was unconscious and his chest moved slightly beneath the blanket. Connor padded quietly over to sit on the other arm of the chair. He placed his hand gently against Blaise's back.

"I owe you." He said quietly.

Blaise looked up at Connor and he noticed how pale she was. He assumed that it was from the blood loss and he wondered vaguely how close she had been to dying for his brother.

"I want to be pissed off at you." Blaise explained quietly. "But I can't bring myself to be. I told you to stay and just wait, since you're supposed t' be dead and yet you ran off and pulled the job."

"I know." Connor mumbled.

"He nearly died." Blaise pointed out.

"I know." Connor whispered, guiltily.

"And yet," Blaise conceded, "I've never been prouder to know you."

Connor stared at her for a long moment. "You look exhausted." He said, uncomfortable with the praise she was heaping on him.

"I'm pretty tired." She admitted. "But I might as well stay here. You wouldnae know what to do if he takes a turn for the worse. And by the time you come and wake me, anything could happen."

"I'll stay with you then." Connor offered.

Blaise sighed. "All right." She agreed, standing slowly as she realized how dizzy she actually was. "I'll just go grab another blanket." She said, moving around Connor and disappearing up the stairs.

Connor couldn't help but watch her go. He moved, kneeling next to Murphy in the few moments they'd have while Blaise was elsewhere. "Murph?" Connor asked quietly. "I'm sorry. You were right. It was a stupid idea an' I almost lost ye tonight. I couldnae live with myself if I had an'... I hate the fact that you were right, ye bastard."

Murphy didn't answer, he didn't move. He just slept, and somehow, Connor was all right with this. Slowly, he stood from his spot as he heard Blaise returning.

Blaise smiled as she tossed a pillow at Connor. "It is far too late to be uncomfortable." She announced. "Wanna watch a movie or somethin'?"

"If you like." Connor said slowly, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Blaise arched an eyebrow in his direction and set one of the blankets she was carrying on the loveseat closer to the couch. "Suit yerself." She said with a shrug, grabbing the book she'd left of the end table by the loveseat before returning to her vigil on the armchair and wrapping herself in her own comforter and tucking her legs under her.

"Why don't you lie down on th' loveseat?" Connor asked.

"Don't wanna fall asleep if I can avoid it." Blaise replied easily, opening the book to where the bookmark stuck out. "I can pull an all-nighter, and when he wakes up, then I'd be thankful if you let me catch a few hours a' sleep." She smiled up at Connor. "You can sleep if you want." She added. "I'm used t' livin' alone and stayin' up all night. You don't have to keep me company."

"I'd rather make sure you're all right." Connor replied.

"Why?"

Connor was momentarily taken aback by her question. "Because you just saved m' brother's life by pumping more blood than you should have into him? Because it's been nothing but trouble for you since we showed up? Because I owe you more than I can ever repay an' this is going to help me sleep at night?"

Blaise's lips quirked up into a smile. "All right, no need t' get defensive, boy." She said lightly. "You're welcome."

Connor huffed a sigh and flopped onto the plush loveseat across from Blaise. She was already engrossed in her book, but she still cast quick glances over towards Murphy's sleeping form every few moments, just to make sure.

She was infuriating and wonderful and Connor couldn't help but feel guilty over the whole thing. He knew that she could have died just as easily saving Murphy's life as Murphy would have if Connor hadn't been faster. And she had no reason for it, aside from some misplaced sense of duty to help the brothers.

Connor shook his head and watched her until the pull of exhaustion finally forced him to unintentionally fall asleep.


End file.
